Burn and Shine
by pulsepoint
Summary: At first glance felonious Edward seems like nothing but trouble, but as sheltered college student Bella digs deeper she realizes he is so much more. Possibly too much for her to handle. ExB, AH, rated M for dark/adult themes and profanity
1. Chapter 1

"The silence was deafening." This is one of those clichés you always hear and think to yourself, _That's stupid. That doesn't even make sense._ I never understood why authors fell back on it time and time again. How had it even come into being in the first place, let alone common usage? Deafening silence? That's something an angsty teenager sticks in her poem about her boyfriend dumping her. I got it now.

The silence was deafening in the corridor where we now sat, and it was punctuated only by the ticking of an old analog clock on the brick wall to my left. Tick tick tick. So quiet I could even strain and hear the motor inside that very clock, whirring as it pushed its gears around the mechanism that makes the hands move at a proper pace. Tick tick tick whirrr tick tick.

The silence was deafening. If someone didn't speak or walk by or tap their foot or something soon I was going to go deaf, just by straining my ears into the silence and hearing only that damn clock. "The silence was deafening." _I get it now. I get it_.

I was waiting in the aforementioned hallway with my two closest companions, Alice Brandon and Rosalie Hale. While Alice was only just barely able to keep still, fidgeting her small frame in her chair, Rose sat sullen and defiant with her arms folded firmly across her chest. Alice was probably just as nervous (scared?) to be there was I was, but not Rose. Rose was _pissed._

There was a certain irony to this fact which I wouldn't be able to appreciate until later. Rose was really the reason we were sitting here in the first place, it having been at her insistence that we snuck into the backyard of the Chi Nu Omega sorority house three hours earlier. One of the beloved sisters, a certain Lauren Mallory, had deigned to hit on Emmett, Rose's longtime boyfriend. Because it was Rosalie, this was a trespass on her territory that would not go unpunished.

"Don't girls hit on him all the time?" Alice had asked cautiously as we stocked up on eggs and toilet paper at the grocery store. Rose smirked as though this were by far one of the least intelligent questions she'd heard recently.

"Yeah, but not by girls he _knows_. He's on the football team and Lauren is a cheerleader. It's not like she doesn't know he's taken. Not only that, but she crossed the line of their professional relationship. And she's a skank."

I couldn't disagree with Rose on that last one, although I'd been under the impression that skank was no longer in popular use. Lauren Mallory was, to put it in my father's terms, "overly social." He'd cautioned me time and time again not to be "overly social" at college. He'd been afraid I'd be like Lauren Mallory, who'd slept with most of the football team aside from Emmett as well as the entirely of Zeta Alpha Delta. Lauren Mallory was a skank, sure. Then again, the only reason I even knew this was because of the gossip Rose was constantly filling my head with when we were supposed to be studying.

Rose hadn't been in a sorority since she'd been kicked out of hers sophomore year, but she liked to keep tabs on them all. Gossip was her best weapon, and she wielded it well. Standing there in the paper goods aisle, watching Rose fill our cart with the fluffiest toilet paper she could find, I was reminded to never cross her. The incident that had led to her being thrown out (and consequently to her meeting Alice and I when she answered our ad for a housemate) had left two other girls suspended and one actually transferred schools.

"The fluffier it is, the faster it comes apart when wet and the harder it is to clean up," Rosalie informed us smugly as she paid. She didn't give a damn if the clerk overheard what we were planning. Oh, and plan we had. Rose even went so far as to learn the sprinkler schedule for sorority row, to maximize the mess we planned on making. She was nothing if not thorough; you had to give her that.

Normally her juvenile pranks are not my thing. _Normally_ I would have told her and Alice to have themselves a grand old time and stayed home with my boyfriend Mike. However, as of just very recently, I no longer had a boyfriend Mike to stay home with and Rose had grown tired of my moping. She and Alice insisted I tag along just for something to do, just to get out of the house for at least one night of the past month.

That's why I was sitting with them at the Clallam County police department, waiting for our arresting officer to decide what to do with us. It would seem that, following a little skirmish with the girls in the neighboring Gamma Theta Epsilon sorority, Chi Nu had seen fit to have a motion-sensing security system installed. We'd been arrested with a surprising amount of our dignity intact, considering our arms were laden with bathroom product and breakfast goods. The officer had even done us the courtesy of not handcuffing us, although it was probably more because he only had the two pairs of cuffs.

Finally there was noise in the form of the door at the end of the corridor bursting open. Our heads swiveled in unison to the source of commotion and Alice let out a small squeak of surprise. Suddenly the hallway was all noise as officers dragged through two loud, boisterous guys about our own age. They were both tall and too-lanky, one of them with wavy dirty blond hair and the other with a wild bronze mess atop his head. My breath caught in my throat.

They were absolute messes, both of them. The blond was sporting a black eye so bad he couldn't even open it and the other one's nose had bled all down the front of his grey t-shirt. He muttered something inaudible to me and his friend laughed jovially. Blond was stumbling as he tried to walk with his hands restrained behind his back. Whatever the bronze-haired one had said to make his companion laugh, the officers were not amused.

"_Great_," Rose groaned sarcastically, loudly enough that they could hear her if they were listening. The hall was now filled with the smell of alcohol and Rose eyed the men with evident disgust. As they passed us the blond grinned amiably, unfazed by Rose's disdainful stare. The other one, not so much. He turned his head just enough to lock narrowed eyes with Rose as long as he could while walking by. I shivered at the coldness of his stare without even receiving the brunt of it, but Rosalie Hale does not back down. She arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, her lips pressed tightly together.

And then, just like that, they were through the door at the other end of the corridor and gone again. I exhaled.

"This is ridiculous," Rose spat, holding out a hand to examine her nails. She broke one on the Chi Nu fence and she was pissed about that, too.

"What do you think they did?" Alice whispered, a little excited despite herself. Everything was so thoroughly interesting to Alice.

"Maybe they got into a fight at a bar or something," I theorized. "Who knew a nose could bleed that much?"

Rose scoffed. "Who cared?"

"That was one of the worst smells I've ever smelled," Alice tossed out, wrinkling her cute little nose. At less than five feet and under 100 pounds, everything about Alice is cute and little. Even her short layered brunette hair is cute and little.

The door that the men had just disappeared into swung open again and our arresting officer stepped out. He was really a very nice guy considering, his amusement clearly apparent in his eyes even as he'd let us know we were in "a heap of trouble." His name was Officer Barthes, and he was probably only a few years older than us. If Rose hadn't been so mad, she would have tried to charm him into letting us go with a warning. As it was, she'd been overly snide.

Too bad, really, because there are few things Rose can't get through charm and the simple fact that she is gorgeous. Truly, breath-takingly gorgeous, with silky blonde hair, blue eyes, and a model's figure if the model had actual breasts. She and Emmett are a perfect match for each other: the handsomely masculine jock and the feminine blonde bombshell. It also helps that her sense of style is immaculate. It was more than likely the cop would have let us go, but now we'd never know.

"Okay, so what I'm going to do is take you in one at a time to answer some questions, and then you each get a phone call. Miss, why don't you come with me?" Officer Barthes correctly pegged Rosalie as our ringleader and went for her right way. With inimitable coolness she rose to her feet and followed him back though the doors to what I assume are the offices. Her kitten heels clicked on the tile with each step; only Rose would wear kitten heels to TP and egg a house.

"What do you think's going to happen to us?" Alice wanted to know as soon as the two of us were alone. I shrugged, trying to be cool like Rose. It failed. Hey, at least we were talking now. It was better than the deafening silence.

"We'll probably just get fined or something," I assured her, not at all certain.

Alice considered this. "It was a stupid prank, Bella. I'm sure we're just going to get yelled at and maybe fined. I mean, it was pretty obvious we weren't hurting anyone."

"Exactly," I agree. "We weren't hurting anyone."

Then again, Lauren Mallory was just the kind of bitch who would call her daddy and insist that the full force of the law be applied against us. Rose had said he did something important, but I couldn't remember what now. Something that paid very well, I was sure. It had to be, if she was in Chi Nu Omega. Those girls would live their entire lives without having to do something like learn how to wash their own laundry or cook their own meals. I could see why Rose hated them on principle, even when one of them wasn't trying to steal her man.

Her family was well-enough off, just like Alice's, but certainly not rich. And me? I was middle class, all the way. By middle-class I mean wooden house with a white fence and a one car garage middle class. I was raised by my father and we'd lived on his salary as Chief of Police – the only police, really – in neighboring Forks until the day he was killed in the line of duty, busting up a meth lab somewhere in the woods between Forks and the Indian reservation. It was his pension putting me through school, the least the good people of Forks could do for their beloved Chief Swan. Oh, if he could see me now.

Only about fifteen minutes had passed before Rose was back, looking smug. Officer Barthes appeared decidedly less confident as he bid Alice join him beyond the doors.

"You couldn't play nice?" I demanded of Rose. She lifted one shoulder in an effortless shrug.

"Relax Bella. I have this covered."

"Is that so?" I glared and jabbed my finger in her direction. "I could be asleep right now, you know. I _should_ be asleep. I don't need this."

"Oh, _please._" Rose rolled her eyes. "You don't need this? This is the most exciting thing that's happened to you in months. Yes, months, as in a long before you finally got rid of that Newton guy. I bet it was hard not to fall asleep during sex."

I frowned, annoyed that Rose was a lot closer to the mark on all counts than I cared to admit. In fact it was easier to stay awake when _she and Emmett_ were having sex, owing to all the noise they made. Mike and I had been so quiet that at one point Alice actually asked if we were "waiting." How embarrassing.

Excitement notwithstanding, I was more than ready to get home, get a hot shower to wash the feel of this place off of me, and sleep for an entire day.

"What kinds of questions is he going to ask me?" I inquired of Rose, watching the clock again. It was past three in the morning by then. I'd been awake for twenty-four hours now. God I wanted sleep.

Rose turned up the corners of her mouth in a way that belied her amused as she let me know in a deadpan tone, "_Officer Barthes_ asked me to please not discuss that with you." She wanted to laugh. It would seem that the Clallam County Police Department did not reserve their best and brightest for the overnight shift. In the moment I tried to imagine how my dad would handle this kind of situation, but the thought just saddened me.

"Hey, look, we'll be out of here soon, I'm sure of it," Rose comforted me, misinterpreting my newly crestfallen expression. I just nodded. Abruptly her tone changed again and she bit out the advice, "Just ignore those assholes."

"Assholes?" It took me a minute to realize who she must have been referring to. By the time I caught up with her, though, Alice was bursting through the doors.

"You're up," she let me know, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the waiting office Barthes. _Well she seems oddly cheerful_, I thought to myself as I got to my feet. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Rose was going to end up being right – she usually was, after all. Her slight, ahem, _miscalculation_ that had landed us here would prove to be no big deal.

It turned out to be a rather small room after such an impressive corridor. I knew there were more desks out front but was nevertheless a little let down. I counted maybe six workstations, a set of three matching doors along one wall, and a large glass window peering into what I'd guessed was the Chief's office. I felt oddly comfortable here, evenly though I'd never been here before; it had that feel. A station house is a station house, I guess, and I had practically been raised in one. _If Dad could see you now..._

Two of the desks were being utilized by the officers we'd seen earlier, escorting their rowdy charges in this direction. I wondered where the two guys were now. _Probably back in holding_. That would be through that door in the corner there, the one that looked like it led to another hallway. This place was bigger than the station in Forks, but I was beginning to suspect it had been designed by the same architect and set up by the same ill-informed interior decorator.

"Just have a seat at the desk and I'll be right there," The officer let me know. I followed his finger to an empty metal desk up against a filing cabinet and nodded more to myself than to him.

Sure. This was more routine to me now. Why had I been so scared? Officer Barthes's authority left a little to be desired but he was doing his job and he knew the motions. I knew them too; I took my seat and waited patiently for my "interview."

It was quiet in here, and I found myself thinking about the drunks. Rose had said to ignore them, but how could I ignore them when they weren't even here? I thought about the bronze-haired one with the bloody nose again and shivered. Even just seeing it from the side, his stare had startled me. I couldn't even imagine what it would have been like if he'd been staring at me.

One of the two other officers finished scribbling something on a notepad and looked up at his partner.

"Alright, you ready for the other one?" he asked. The other cop nodded and I followed him with my eyes, already knowing exactly which door he was going for. I was right; the one in the corner. I wondered what was taking Officer Barthes so long. It seemed ridiculous that he would try to "sweat" me or something, but the long I sat there the more my imagination began to run away with me. How the hell had this only taken Rose and Alice only 15 minute apiece? I'd been sitting here for nearly ten and we hadn't even begun yet.

The door in the corner opened again and the first one through it was the bronze-hair guy, his arms still locked behind him as the officer steered him through. The young man's head was down, not out of any kind of embarrassment but rather so that he could watch where he was stepping. He didn't stumble the way his buddy had out in the hall.

Looking at him full on like this, I was able to get a better visual. First, he was tall. I hadn't noticed that before because his friend had been taller. Even with his head down, though, he had a good several inches on the cop escorting him. He was also lanky, as I'd noted before, but I could see the muscles flexing in his arms as they were tensed behind his back. At some point he'd washed the blood off of his face and neck, but it had dried to a dark reddish brown on his shirt.

He was pale, which wasn't a big shocker considering our locale. No one gets sun around here, so no one tans. The closest thing you see to a tan is the Quileutes on the reservation or else the fisherman with their skin reddened by wind burn. His pallid skin accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, though, and vice versa. I couldn't help but think of Charlie Sheen's character in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, making out with Jennifer Grey down at the precinct. The officer was walking him right in my direction, presumably toward the empty desk five feet over from this one.

And then his head lifted up and he was staring at me intently, piercing me with his eyes. Immediately panic welled up within me under that cold gaze. _Why is he staring at me like that?! I didn't even do anything!_ I blushed quickly looked away, searching the room for Officer Barthes. He came toward me with a peculiar expression on his face and dropped into the chair opposite mine. At almost the same moment the other officer dropped his charge down roughly into a chair at the neighboring desk. He couldn't have been more than 6 feet from me. I shivered again.

"Isabella Swan, is it?" Officer Barthes asked. I didn't know why he was asking; he had my license right there in front of him, didn't he? He'd divested all three of us of our belongings before even driving us down here. I could feel eyes boring into me over his shoulder, from the next desk over. It caused me to shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Yes, that's right," I agreed, trying to sound pleasant in my discomfort. More than anything, I just wanted to get out of here as quickly as I could.

"Did you know you were already on file in our database?" Officer Barthes inquired gently. My eyes widened in surprise.

"In- But- But I haven't done anything!" I managed to stutter. "I mean, I've never-"

He held his hand up to stop me and in the open space created by his movement I could see the bronze-haired guy still staring at me. He was shaking his head slowly against whatever the officer was saying to him, but his eyes never left me.

"Relax. It appears your father took the liberty of entering you as a precaution, in the event that you might go missing or something of that nature." Officer Barthes looked me up and down curiously, and I could tell he was wondering why I hadn't said something right away. What would I have said, though? Dad would have been horrified if I'd pulled a move like that when he was alive; I sure wasn't about to do it now.

"Oh. I see." I had nothing else to say.

He stood up and gave me a tight, not unsympathetic smile. "Let me just finish making an inventory, and then I'll be able to give you girls a ride home."

Once he was gone I could overhear what the other officer was saying to this young man who was _still staring._ Something about a fight – I had been right, then – and also something about a stolen car. It sounded like their evening had been a lot more eventful than ours. It also sounded like they wouldn't be grabbing a ride home any time soon. I made sure to keep my head down.

"Fuck, hang on," the officer muttered gruffly to himself. He'd never sat down, and he turned now to go back to his partner and ask something. I watched him go and flicked my gaze to the bronze-haired guy, who took this opportunity to lean in toward me, his hands still cuffed. His arm muscles tensed and flexed from the strain.

"Daddy saves the day?" he hissed in a low voice, his jaw clenched and his eyes still boring into me. I met his gaze, shocked by it. It was so much more severe this close up, and I could see that his green eyes were filled with hatred. Again the irrational panic began to well up in me, but this time it was drowned out by my fury.

"Fuck you!" I shot back angrily. "You don't know a damn thing about my father!"

It caught him off guard for maybe half a second before his stare was back on full force. He sneered at me derisively.

"Hey!" The officer shouted out from across the room, coming back over. "Leave her the fuck alone." He grabbed the guy violently by the cuff chain to lift him out of the chair, an act I happen to know hurts like holy hell. It pops the arms back and jerks them backward in their sockets, putting body weight where it was never meant to be put.

The guy grunted and closed his eyes at the pain, letting the officer drag him away from me without any kind of struggle. Now I was the one staring. Bronze-hair opened his eyes again and looked at me, the former intensity of his gaze replaced with patronizing amusement. When I glared at him the corner of his mouth tilted up in a crooked smirk. The officer yanked open the door to the holding cells and practically threw the young man in before following him.

My heart was beating rapidly, circulating adrenaline through my system at the wild, irrational panic that had overtaken me. What did I have to be afraid of? I was in the middle of a police station, for cripe's sake. So absorbed was I in the encounter I'd just had, I didn't even notice right away that Officer Barthes was standing over me, extending my purse. He cleared his throat and I jumped up by reflex.

"We're all set here," he let me know, gesturing for me to follow him to the door. I accepted my purse, grateful to be on my way.


	2. Chapter 2

**EPOV**

"Jesus, watch that shit."

I took a step back from Jazz as he went on heaving his innards to the sidewalk, bracing himself on the side of whoever the hell's Ford Taurus this was. Ours for now. We weren't planning on keeping it, just having a little fun in it, and then we'd leave it back where we found it. That was still the plan, as soon as Jazz was done throwing up his guts. _Man. Look at him go._

"Edward man I think I'm dying."

I leaned back over the hood and looked up between the tree tops to see the stars. The sky was so clear for a change, the clouds probably just hanging out somewhere waiting for early morning. I was starting to feel drowsy and hoped it was all that Jack I'd downed and not a concussion. Just like I hoped Jazz's problem was alcohol and not one of those punches he took to the gut.

"You're not dying," I murmured, trying to find the big dipper. Could you see the big dipper this time of year? "You're not that lucky."

He wasn't, really. Neither of us was. We were going to be standing here until Jazz was done heaving everything he'd ever swallowed ever, and then we'd take the Taurus back to Sequim, leave it in a lot, and stumble to Jazz's pickup to ride home. We'd be hung over and fucking miserable all day tomorrow, wishing we _had_ died now. I wondered if I should see someone about my nose. It hurt like a son of a bitch but it wasn't swollen so I didn't think it was broken_. Just one hell of a bloody nose_. I could smell the iron in the blood drying on my shirt.

There are only maybe two true dive bars in the entire shit expanse that is Port Angeles, Washington. The rest of them are something I liked to call "ampersands." Bar & Grills. Restaurant & Lounges. The & adds a touch of class, at least in theory. The ampersand is what bumps them up from a shithole to a shithole that you can also eat a meal at. We had those in Chicago, but at least back in Chicago we also had plenty of dive bars.

My friend Jasper and I didn't go to the ampersands. Fuck that shit, seriously. First of all, that food is barely food and I wasn't eating it. I'd eat at home, thank you very much. Second, ampersands always charge more for the same things that you can get at a hole in the wall. Every time. The problem was that both of the bars in Port Angeles had asked that Jazz and I not frequent them anymore, due to occasional rowdiness. "Occasional rowdiness," That's the actual phrase that one of the managers used. Jazz busted up laughing so hard I had to help him back to the car. I had to help him back to the car a lot, when he wasn't helping me.

So, fine. Tonight we just drove over to Sequim and found a bar there instead. It was dark and loud and had pool tables, so it suited us fine. We usually just drank at home anyway, but tonight was a special occasion of sorts. I'd gotten fired.

I had no defense for it and I didn't care. I didn't need the job, really, since Jazz and I didn't pay rent. And my employer, Mr. Banner, _Mr._ Banner, was a prick. He had us doing remodeling jobs that I knew weren't sanctioned and I would be damned if I was going to go back to jail for something that wasn't even really my responsibility, just because someone else neglected to get some kind of permit or other. If I quit, though, I wasn't getting any unemployment benefits. The conclusion was logical.

And when Mr. Fucking Banner called me a little shit and told me to get off his job site, I slapped down two blueprints on the table he was using as a desk and explained that I would be seeking unemployment and that it would be in his best interests not to challenge it. He sneered at me but didn't say a damn thing. He knew I had him by the balls the way those two blueprints - the one we were working off of and the one we had filed downtown - didn't match up. Not even close. When I got home and told Jazz he whooped and punched me on the arm.

"Hot damn, Edward. This calls for a party."

A party was what we got, for sure. We were minding our own business, getting tanked and shooting pool, when someone at the neighboring table had the misfortune of making a snide remark about my hair. To paraphrase, he suggested it was so disheveled due to an activity Jazz and I might have been engaging in out in the alleyway. I would have let it go (well, no, I would have said something smart-ass back), but that's just not how Jazz operates. While I looked on, he leaned against our pool table and gave the man a lazy grin before flipping up the blunt end of his cue into the man's face.

Needless to say this didn't sit well with our new acquaintance, who had immediately given Jazz a fist to the jaw. The next thing I was vaulting over the table to throw myself in there, and then of course all hell broke loose. Something, maybe someone's elbow, made contact with my nose. I could taste the blood coming out of my nostrils, running down along my lips and my chin. Jazz grinned wildly at me and I grinned back. We both knew we had maybe 30 seconds to get the fuck out of there, so we did what any sensible pair of assholes would do and took off.

Jazz hadn't been able to find parking anywhere near the bar, probably owing to it being the one real bar in Sequim, so we tried door handles until he found an unlocked sedan and I climbed in the driver's seat. Hot wiring is my thing, not his, but I didn't even have to this time. These small towns, I swear to God. Some people just left their keys right there in the ignition. If only they'd made it so easy back in Chicago. So I fired her up and we took off down the 101 highway until I found a logging road. It was on said logging road that Jazz suddenly informed me that he was going to be sick and I pulled over to let him do his thing.

By the time he was done I didn't understand how he could possibly have anything left in his body. Jazz may be tall, taller than me even, but he's not a large man. When he stood and smiled at me weakly, I hopped off the hood of the car and thumped him on the back.

"Come on, let's drop this thing and go home. I need to crawl into bed and sleep for about ten fucking years."

I was way too drunk to drive from a legal perspective, of course, but whatever. It wouldn't be the first or the last time we drove drunk, and things are so spread out and isolated here that no one even gives a shit the majority of the time. Go outside any bar in Clallum County around last call and you were guaranteed to see a dozen good ol' boys stumbling to their light blue or red Chevy's to make for home and get bitched out by their old ladies. That's how it was done around here. If someone hit a tree that was their own problem.

On the drive back to Sequim I kept touching my fingers to my nose and glancing over at Jazz. The nose was fine. It already hurt less. Jazz was fine too, watching out the windshield and whistling to himself. Out of nowhere he turned to me and we grinned like idiots at each other, because we were both thinking the exact same thing. _What the fuck are we even doing here_?

It was a fair question. Up until three months ago we'd been tearing it up in Chicago, sharing a shitty apartment that surely did not pass fire code and getting into trouble. Now we were living basically in the middle of nowhere between a small town called Port Angeles and an even smaller town called Forks, tearing it up and getting into trouble. It would have seemed almost surreal if it weren't for the fact that Jazz and I just go where the current takes us anyway.

At the end of this past summer the current had taken the form of Jazz's aunt passing on. Some lawyer called the apartment looking for a _Mr_. Jasper Whitlock and informed him that he had just inherited a two story, three bedroom house in Clallum County, Washington state. Well, what did we care? We were two short steps from eviction anyway, and the house was paid for, so off we went and here we were. _So I guess that's what the fuck we're doing here._

I didn't know how to feel about the locale at first. It was pretty, sure. The trees and the rain and the Pacific were all pretty as hell. The ocean was clean and clear, not brown and disgusting like Lake Michigan, and the air was good. Chicago's air would burn my lungs after living here for a while. On the other hand, there wasn't a damn thing to do here besides going to bars and getting into trouble. If I wanted to see a band or something we'd have to go all the way to Seattle. If I wanted to get laid my options were single-mother waitresses or the chicks from Meyer, the liberal arts college in Port Angeles. Everyone else got out of here the day they turn 18, and I couldn't blame them.

Jazz's truck was still sitting right where we left it so I parked the Ford and hoisted myself out, leaving the keys in the ignition like a good kid. Jazz didn't even get sick _in_ the car, so as far as I was concerned we were golden. And we would have been, for sure, had a patrol car not chosen that exact moment to cruise by. Headlights hit me and one look at my shirt told the cop I was worth talking to. He pulled over and climbed out, shining his insanely bright Maglite on us.

"You boys been drinking?" he asked. Had we been drinking? He was one hundred percent for real with that question. I looked at Jazz and he looked at me, and we couldn't hold it in. We just busted up laughing, because we knew our night was totally fucked.

The cop didn't find the situation particularly funny, but that was his loss. By the time his backup had arrived Jazz and I were already in cuffs, sitting on the curb. Jazz thought he might be sick again, but I knew there was nothing left for him to throw up. The cop asked us questions while his partner ran the plates on Jazz's Honda truck and the Taurus, and we cheerfully let him know that he could go fuck himself. I wasn't stupid – I knew that anything I could possibly say in that situation would only make it worse for us.

The other guy confirmed that the Ford was reported stolen following a bar fight at the Town Inn, and we were officially arrested. During the ride to the station house our man in blue let us know that he was sick of "smart-ass kids" from Meyer messing with shit in his town. He thought we were college kids. That struck us as funny and Jazz flashed his teeth in the direction of the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, man, you should really have a talk with whoever it is runs the place. Have them tell us _kids_ leave you _Townies_ alone." That's what the college students called everyone else who lived around here: Townies. It's a hick term if I've ever heard one. Jazz played up his faint Texas drawl when he spoke, making it sound even more hick-ish. The corners of my mouth curled up in a derisive smile at the cop. I hoped he called the college to complain about us, mentioning us by name.

Auto theft and assault are both at least C class felonies in the state of Washington. I knew this because I had been curious enough to go to the library and look it up after a past joyride. It would be tricky for the cop to pin us though, and he was aware of that fact, and it was only pissing him off more. That fight had been crazy and no one was going to go pressing assault charges because anyone who did could just as easily have them pushed right back at him.

And as for the car... the cop could only prove that we've been in it and maybe, _maybe_ that we'd moved it three blocks. What could he say? We weren't even in it anymore when he pulled over to talk to us. We didn't have the key on our persons. Maybe we found it abandoned next to Jazz's truck and got in to look for a number to call. Shit. That was a good story. If we were going to bother offering a story, which we wouldn't, we would use that one. Jazz knew as well as I did to keep it clamped down.

The other officer met us at the police station and helped our man in blue walk us inside. He took Jazz by the wrists and our cop took me and we busted in through booking. The front of the office was essentially empty except for the booking officer, and we were put down for public drunkenness and disturbing the peace. Ha. Both misdemeanors. After getting printed we were on our feet again, going through a set of double doors that swung into a wide concrete corridor. I knew this corridor from another time when we'd been picked up for basically the same damn thing, public drunkenness, and been left in the holding cells to sleep it off.

"We're gonna get _fined,_" I whispered to Jazz in mock fear, leaning in so my weight was on the cop holding my wrists. Jazz's grin turned into a laugh, and he stumbled trying to walk with his hands bound. I shook my head in amusement.

"_Great,_" a female voice spat loudly, causing both of us to look up and Jazz to misstep again. He was still drunk as hell.

The sarcastic comment had come from one of three girls sitting along the wall toward the other end of the corridor. Judging by the pissed-off look the tall blonde in the middle was giving us, I was banking on her. Her two friends, a tiny fidgeting girl with short hair and a slender brunette, both looked almost scared. Scared of us, that was a good one. Immediately I was struck by how out of place they were.

What were they even doing here? Maybe they'd gotten robbed or some shit. Maybe they were here to pick up drunk boyfriends. The blonde had her head lifted like a total princess, that bitchy sneer still on her face, her shoulders square as she tried to stare me down. Please. It kind of pissed me off, because who the fuck did she think she was? I stared back at her, willing her with my eyes to burn. I wasn't going to take any shit from her.

Jazz just thought it was a cute scene, three sweet pieces watching us like we were some kind of dangerous. _Ooh, that bad men looked at us. _He gave them a grin, because that's how he operates, and then we were on our way again. I held the blonde's eyes as long as I could, knowing my movement meant I had to be the first one to back down. I didn't want her taking any satisfaction in it.

As I assumed they would, the cops split us up as soon as we were in the bull pen, in case we tried to match stories. As if there would be anything for them to pick apart. I got taken back and tossed into a holding cell, because Jazz looked like a talker. Between the two of us, he looked more like he would spill something.

While I waited for him, I started to get like angry. It was the blonde – she'd ruined my good mood and killed the last of my buzz. Why did she have to go and do that? I hadn't fucking backed over her dog or anything like that, and she had just looked at me like I was the shit on her shoe.

Now those girls, _they_ were college kids. You could tell, because they sure as hell weren't waitresses. The blonde was a total beauty queen, all make up and fashion and styling product. And the squirming little one, she wasn't much better. At least she hadn't been haughty. _No, she was scared of your ass. She thought you were going to like cut her. The other one, too._ The other one. I'd felt almost bad for her when I saw how uncomfortable she was, her hands folded in her lap and her dark brown hair hanging in her face when she lowered her head. Almost. _She's looking down so she doesn't have to look at you._ The thought had connected me back to reality and helped me dislike her as much as I disliked her friends.

There was a sink in the corner of the cell, so I went to wash my face off as best I could. The cop had taken off my cuffs when he dropped me in here, but they'd been too tight and my wrists were red and stinging. Bastard just didn't like me. Yeah, well, it was fucking mutual.

There was nothing to dry off with, so I shook my head and sent the water droplets flying. Now I was almost completely sober, and I sank back down on the bunk to seethe.

Everyone always thought I was beneath them, just based on how I looked. Okay, so my hair was all over the place and my clothes were old and beat to hell. Did that lower my I.Q.? Did that make me less of a man? Who gave a fuck if I didn't finish high school? Any prick can finish high school; it's not like the public school system is in any way demanding. Jazz and I got by and took care of ourselves just fine. Better than a lot of people, that was for sure. Who the fuck was that princess to look at me like I was nothing? At least I wasn't some touchy bitch whose sum total of life meaning was looking pretty. At least I wasn't spending my weekends at frat parties getting felt up under the stairs or in some trashed rec room. Jesus.

Our man in blue came back with Jazz and took his cuffs off, giving me a look that clearly said "you next." I sneered at him and stood up.

"Oh man, Edward dude. There is the sweetest little thing sitting out there right now," Jazz said, showing his teeth. "I have never been so happy to be in lockup."

There were no girls in there when I got led through earlier, so I assumed he meant one of the chicks from the hallway. My eyes narrowed at him, but Jazz didn't notice.

"She's such fineness."

"That's not even a word," I informed him, annoyed. Jazz _would_ get a lock on one of those bitches. As an afterthought I added, "You need to get laid."

"You tell her that, man. You tell her."

"Good fucking luck," the cop interjected now, and for a second Jazz actually looked _disappointed_. He shook his head like he was trying to shake the idea loose, then turned back to me.

"She _smiled_ at me," he confided, ignoring the snort the cop gave him as he pulled me out of the cell and toward the double doors. Jazz called after me, repeating himself. "She smiled!"

We went through the doors into the bull pen and I watched the floor in front of me because I knew the cop would try to make me lose my balance if he could. After a moment my eyes sought out whichever girl Jazz was fawning over. Ah. The one with the long brown hair. I went to give her a once over, in an attempt to figure out what it was about her that caught Jazz's eye, but she was already looking right at me. Not scared this time but... curious? Her cheeks reddened and she looked down immediately, embarrassed to be caught. Well... good then. I guess.

"Keep dreaming, shit heel," my cop whispered into my ear from behind. He jerked my wrists to lead me and propelled me directly toward where the girl was sitting.

I continued staring at her. She didn't look afraid, or like I was nothing. She just looked like she uncomfortable as all hell, and maybe it had nothing to do with me at all. I didn't get why she'd looked so curious, like she wanted to know something about me. What was there to know? Why would she care? Why had she smiled for Jazz but she wasn't smiling at me? Why was I even wondering that?

She had big brown eyes, almost like a kid's. That was it. There was something a little childlike about her, the way she'd looked at me. Now she was talking to a cop who had come over to sit with her, but I kept watching. I had no excuse to, but now I was curious too. Not like anything else was going on in this joint. Why was she here? Her tiny pale hands twisted in her lap and I got that she was nervous.

The cop was telling her she was already in their system. That surprised me. What the hell kind of trouble could a little thing like that be getting into? Apparently it startled her too, because she began to stutter her way through some kind of explanation. This was interesting to watch. So much more interesting than my own legal situation.

"Edward Cullen, right? That's your name?" my cop asked me. I nodded absently. I was trying to hear what the other cop was saying to the brunette. She glanced at me and I was caught. I didn't look away. Fuck that.

"Relax," I heard her cop tell her. "It appears your father took the liberty..."

I didn't catch the rest. My cop was talking to me again. I had the impulse to tell him to be quiet for a minute, and I fully recognized the absurdity of that scenario. What had her father taken the liberty of? She was calming down now, damn it. What did her dad do for her? Now I'd never know. I tried to imagine her smiling for Jazz in this situation and I couldn't.

Her cop stood up and said something in a polite tone, and I realized that whatever trouble this pretty little girl might have been in, she was already out of it again thanks to her dad. I could feel my anger, temporarily forgotten, coming back to me in hot waves. It figured. No wonder she was easy smiles with Jazz. She had the lock on this, whatever she'd done. I was going to be spending the night in a cell and she was going to be home getting her beauty sleep in her own bed.

"...car theft, not to mention making a damn scene with that fight of yours. That's assault. That's a felony right there, buddy." I had all but tuned out my man in blue. He was only trying to scare me. I knew he was irritated because by now he'd talked to both Jazz and me and he still had absolutely nothing. I hoped it ruined his night.

He went to get a statement for me to sign, the statement basically being "I don't have shit to say to you," and I was free to look at the girl again.

She couldn't have been more than five or six feet from me. Well, I could definitely see why Jazz had smiled at _her_. She was cute, no lie. Pretty, in fact. I would have looked twice, even under other circumstances. Ah, but she was a bitch with a free ticket out of here, and that pissed me off. And her head was up and she was looking at me again, like I was just fascinating to her. _Wow, a real live scumbag._

I leaned forward in my chair, the handcuffs causing an uncomfortable tug in my shoulders.

"Daddy saves the day?" I asked coldly, making sure my voice was too low to be heard by anyone else. I didn't like her. I didn't like her big pretty brown eyes or the way she thought I was interesting or the fact that she'd smiled at my friend. I didn't like her. Her eyes widened at my words.

Then she did something I completely did not expect. She cursed at me.

"Fuck you! You don't know a damn thing about my father!"

I raised my brows and quickly lowered then again. Well. That was beyond interesting, really. She was right, I didn't. No argument from me, pretty girl.

Her defense was loud enough to catch the attention of my cop, though, and he yelled at me from across the room. Clearly I'd struck a nerve with her. I kinda wanted to apologize or something, as if there were a way I could, but I wasn't going to get the chance. The cop came over and yanked hard on the chain connecting my handcuffs to stand me up, twisting my shoulders in their sockets, and the world in front of me went temporarily black. I grunted, choking down a louder sound of pain. _Motherfucker._

My eyes were stinging and I had to squeeze them shut to stop their watering. After a few seconds I blinked and refocused on the girl. She was still mad, I think. Anyway she was staring at me hard now, and not backing down, and I liked that. She wasn't haughty like her blonde friend was. I'd pissed her off with what I'd said and she was letting me know. That was fair. I liked her now. I was amused. I gave her a little crooked smile through the incredible pain that was my arms and shoulders just as my cop opened the door to toss me back into holding. Guess I'd be signing my statement later.

He threw me into the cell, literally threw me, and I landed hard against the wall. Motherfucker, my shoulder. _Shit._ I knew by his face that he wanted to punch me, to break my nose like it should have been broken already. Jazz was right there though, and he wasn't wearing cuffs. Even though we'd inevitably lose that fight, it was a shit storm the cop didn't want to contend with. He uncuffed me and glared as he slammed the cell door shut. Then we were alone again.

"What the hell happened?" Jazz wanted to know. I reached across my torso to rub my shoulder, wincing from the bending. Okay, not a good move. I went to rub my swollen wrists instead.

"Your smiler's a spitfire," I informed him.

"What?" Jazz's expression went from confusion to anger. "What the fuck did you do, man?"

I rolled my eyes. "Nothing. Like I could. Her dad-"

"Wait, her dad?" Jazz furrowed his brows. "She told the cop she was talking to that she didn't know her dad."

Well, at least Jazz was a creepy listener too. Wait. She what? Now I was frowning too. That made no sense whatsoever.

"What did she look like?" Jazz asked, a little too into this. I shrugged and immediately hissed. That shit was going to hurt for days, I could tell already.

"I don't know. Pale. These really big brown eyes. Uh, long brown hair-"

"Ah! My girl didn't have long hair. She had like short choppy hair." He smiled just picturing her. I cocked my head to the side and sifted through my memory. Okay, so Jazz meant the other girl. The fidgety one. That made more sense, at least. She looked like she would take any excuse to smile. She looked like energy. So my brown-eyed cursing girl hadn't smiled for Jazz. I was pleased to know, at least, that there wasn't something inherently wrong with me to make her smile for Jazz but not me.

"Yeah, okay. Different chick then," I said nonchalantly, falling back on the bunk. My back didn't like the contact, but what was I going to do about it? Ask for a cold pack and some Tylenol? Yeah fucking right. I closed my eyes. "I need to get some sleep."

"Yeah, alright." Jazz's voice was distracted. He went to recline on the opposing bunk and I knew he'd lie there daydreaming about his sweet piece until he fell asleep. _Dream on, buddy. Dream on. _The cop was right; good fucking luck.

_What are we even fucking doing here?_


	3. Chapter 3

**BPOV**

Both Alice and Rosalie had the tact not to thank me for having a deceased cop father to give us a ticket out of jail. That was nice of them, at least. It brought me one step closer to forgiving them. Some apologies would be even better. Of course, Rosalie Hale does not apologize, to me or anyone else. The best I could hope for was her being extra nice to me for the next week, which she was. I was beginning to get used to it, even, which was my next mistake.

"Hey guys," I called as I came back to the house, dropping my backpack on the kitchen table just inside the door. It was past 6pm, so Alice and Rose would both be back from class by now.

"Hey Bella." Emmett's voice returned from the living room. Great. Guess I wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. No, wait. Maybe they would be going back to his house. God is capable of small miracles.

"Bella!" Alice flitted into the kitchen cheerfully, greeting me with a wide smile. I had no idea how anyone could manage to be as consistently happy as Alice was. I went back and forth between finding it endearing and finding it annoying.

"Hey, Alice. What's up?" I turned my back to her to rummage through the fridge for a soda. I know it's terrible for me, but everyone has at least one high fructose corn syrup weakness, don't they? Mine is Dr Pepper.

"Not much..." The way her voice trailed off made me instantly suspicious. I lifted my head to peer at her over the fridge door.

"What?" I demanded.

"There'sapartyatZetaAlphaDeltatonightandwe'reallgoing," Alice let out in a rush, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other. I groaned and shut the fridge.

"I assume that by "we" you're referring to yourself, Rosalie and Emmett," I told her, my lack of amusement clear in my tone.

"And you. You're coming too."

I turned to find Rose leaning in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, examining her fresh manicure rather than meeting my gaze. She arched a brow like she'd found an imperfection of some kind. Woe unto that poor manicurist.

"No way, Rose," I began defensively, literally backing away from her. I should have known that Nice Rose wouldn't last. "I'm not going there. Those girls from Chi Nu will be there, and they'll be-"

Rose cut me off before I couldn't finish. "Exactly. They'll be there. They'll be there, and we'll be there, and we're not going to take their shit."

I frowned, seeing exactly where this was heading. "So, what, we show up at a frat party just to let some girls know we aren't afraid of their wrath? Isn't that a little childish?"

"Are you calling me childish?" Rose demanded, straightening up to her full height now. Oops. No, wait, I couldn't let her bully me into this. I had at least a little dignity left, didn't I? The last thing I needed was to get roped into another situation that was going to end up with me blustering an apology to the inestimable Officer Barthes.

"Come on, Rose! This is like the Jets and the Sharks without the finger snaps."

"Ooh, can we have a rumble?" Alice asked, giggling. Rose shot her a look.

"If you chicks get in a knock down drag out, let me know so I can watch." Emmett joined us now, coming up behind Rose and wrapping his arms around her waist. Yes, please. The thing I wanted to see most right now is a happy loving couple with one of them making sexual commentary. Which reminded me.

"Rose I can't go," I pled. "You know Mike will be there! Tyler's in Zeta Alpha." Tyler was Mike's best friend. If Tyler's fraternity was going to be throwing some huge bash, it only made sense that he would drag my ex-boyfriend along.

"All the more reason to attend," Rose cooed, countering my argument. "He sees you looking hot and talking to other guys and he realizes what a complete douche bag he is. As long as w don't let you get drunk and hook up with him, it's perfect."

"I get to do her hair and makeup!" Alice squealed, calling dibbies over me as though I were a doll or something. Oh, God. There was just no way this could end well. Friday night: Bella's own personal hell.

Emmett refrained from teasing me mercilessly when Alice brought me out of my room to parade me around in the outfit she'd selected: something she called a dress and I called a long shirt, plus a pair of black leggings. Really? Was that trend still around? If so, why? She'd at least let me wear ballet flats instead of heels, but had countered that reprieve by doing something absolutely ridiculous to my hair, burling and curling it until it looked like I'd just fallen out of bed.

"That's the _point,_" Alice huffed crossly when I'd said this to her. "It's supposed to look effortless."

"Effortless?" I echoed in disbelief. "You mean you just spent forty minutes making my hair look as though I didn't spend any time on it at all?"

"Exactly!" Alice chirped, pleased that I seemed to understand. She didn't catch me rolling my freshly lined eyes at her.

Naturally, Emmett didn't need to do anything to hs appearance aside from tugging off his baseball cap, so once I was all gussied we were ready to go. I felt absolutely ridiculous sitting in the back of his Jeep, driving toward my certain humiliation. If one of the righteous harpies from Chi Nu didn't get to me to cry, watching Mike drunkenly hitting on them surely would.

Sure enough, as soon as we entered the Zeta Alpha house, several pairs of eyes aimed in our direction. Rosalie pointedly ignored them, allowing Emmett to parade her through the foyer as though she were a Queen. Alice and I trailed in her wake, hanging close to each other and keeping our heads down. This would not be pretty.

"Hello, ladies! Drink?" A guy appeared at our left, two red cups in his hands. Alice reached for one but I grabbed her arm to pull it back. The last thing this night needed was for one of us to end up roofied.

"Yes thank you, where is the keg?" I asked politely, as though I were in a department store looking for linens. The boy frowned in confusion then broke into a laugh.

"Back yard," he let us know, pointing us in the proper direction with a hand that still held a beer. "You need an escort?"

"Oh, I hate to drag you away," I replied, hustling a giggling Alice out of the room.

The party was in full swing already, with drunken rowdiness occurring in basically every room, plus both the front and back yards. I hoped that in this crowd Alice and I would be able to just sneak into a corner and wait it out, but not so. Someone as cute as Alice is always bound to attract attention, I supposed. We were approached numerous times that evening by guys who wanted to talk to her, dance with her, fetch her a drink. One even offered her a piggy back ride, which she had had enough alcohol to gladly accept. Great, so now I was on my own.

"Hey," came a voice from my right. I turned to see Tyler drop onto the sofa next to me, a buzzed smile on his face. "How's it going Bella? Fancy seeing you here. Having a good time?"

"Oh, the best," I lied, forcing a smile back. I had nothing against Tyler and he'd always been nice enough to me. It wasn't his fault that his best friend was, as Rose had so delicately put it, a douche bag.

"Good to hear! What've you been up to?"

I got it. This was his frat's party and he was trying to be a good host. Tyler saw me sitting here by myself and now he was trying to kind of check up on me out of some sense of obligation. That was a sweet gesture, but what I really wanted was to go home, the sooner the better. I eyed Tyler; he wasn't sober enough to ask for a ride.

"Oh, not much," I answered, looking down at my legging-clad knees. _I feel like a drag queen. I'm one sideways ponytail away from the eighties._ "How about you? How's Jessica?"

Instantly Tyler's face fell and I cringed. Not so good, then.

"She's... we're taking a break right now," he informed me, looking unhappy as hell about that fact. "We're just, you know, seeing other people, checking out what else is out there..."

"Right, sure," I agreed amiably, not knowing what else to say. I never liked Jessica anyway. She had a way of just inserting herself into the conversation, and her laugh grated on me.

As if on cue, there it was, coming from the next room over. Tyler's head snapped up in the direction of the sound and I followed his gaze. There was Jessica, holding a shot glass and laughing hysterically at something Mike had just said. _Mike._

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, hoping Tyler hadn't heard me. As the two of us looked on, transfixed, Jessica leaned in and took a lemon wedge from Mike's hand with her teeth, grinning at him salaciously the entire time. Oh man.

"Yeah, so, you know, we're doing that," Tyler said out of nowhere, and it took me a minute to realize that he was continuing our conversation. I also realized he'd scooted just a bit closer to me on the sofa. _Uh oh. Danger alert, Bella._

"Well, I hope everything works out," I told him, managing to make my voice somewhat sincere as I backed up. Tyler was close enough that our knees were almost bumping. Not good.

"I hope so too," he agreed earnestly, leaning forward. Okay, so maybe he wasn't talking to me to check on me. Maybe he was very obviously over here hoping to hook up with me in order to get revenge on his ex and his (former?) best friend. Maybe I really needed to get out of this situation like immediately.

"Well, I'm going to go find the bathroom," I announced unceremoniously, getting to my feet. Tyler copied my action and stood right in front of me.

"Let me show you where it is," he suggested, giving me a look that he probably intended to be seductive. _Damn it, Rose, where are you right now when I need you most?_

"Uhm, that's okay, I'm sure I can find it."

I turned around and fled before Tyler could do something like take me by the arm or tell me what pretty eyes he'd always thought I had. Escape was my only desire as I wound through the house, weaving through couples and frat boys in search of either Alice or a bathroom to lock myself in. I finally found the latter and collapsed on the edge of the tub.

So. Mike and Jessica, huh? That was... interesting. _Wait until she finds out just how uninteresting he really is_, I thought to myself bitterly, looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Alice truly had done a wonderful job on my make-up. And while I wasn't sure about the style she'd chosen for my hair, I at least had to admit that it was exactly like she'd intended it to look. Kind of a loose, tousled Jennifer Aniston thing. Alice had called it "sex hair." I could honestly say my hair never looked anything close to this unkempt post-sex.

Mike was the first and only boy I'd ever had sex with. During the almost two years that we'd dated he'd improved little. Or, hell, maybe it was me. Or maybe it was just that we didn't click. I don't know. It wasn't _bad_ or _awkward_ or anything, just... uneventful. Perhaps we simply lacked imagination. I'd tried on one occasion to spice things up with a school girl outfit (all guys have that fantasy, don't they?), only to fall asleep waiting for Mike to come home from Tyler's. He'd gotten too drunk to drive and ended up staying overnight, which led to him finding me sprawled out on his bed in the morning, my makeup smeared and his head killing him. Very sexy.

Why was I even thinking about this now? Wasn't I supposed to be out there flirting like all hell? Wouldn't Tyler have been excellent for a little revenge flirting? Except I got the feeling Tyler wanted more than innocent flirting, and _that_ I wasn't up for. Hell, I wasn't even sure about the flirting, to be honest. Did I actually know how?

Squaring my shoulders, I marched back out of the bathroom to find a cute boy to make eyes at. Instead what I found was a very pissed off Lauren Mallory.

"I cannot _believe_ you bitches had the nerve to come here!" she shrilled, poking me in the sternum with a pink fingernail.

"Chill out Lauren," I mumbled, wondering if it would be possible to flirt with the black eye I was about to get. The idea made me think of the blond guy from the police station last weekend and his swollen features. Bizarrely, I found myself speculating that it had probably mostly healed by now. It would still be a little yellow, sure, but that would go away soon enough too. Oh right. Lauren.

"You ought to tell that friend of yours that we're not going to take anymore of her shit."

I had to smirk at Lauren's threat. If she thought Rosalie would ever back down in a fight, she was about to be unpleasantly surprised. Showing up at this party would be only the beginning.

Why don't you tell her yourself?" I suggested, hoping I sounded cool and unaffected. "I'm sure she_ and Emmett_ are around here somewhere." The emphasis on Emmett's name was meant to be a blow at her ego, and it seemed to hit its mark. Lauren's eyes flared wide and her face contorted with anger. I braced myself for whatever was coming, but it never came.

"There you are, Bella," Tyler called, sauntering over. Great. What's that expression? Out of the frying pan and into the fire? Yeah, this night was all roses.

"Hey," I greeted Tyler glumly as Lauren spun on her extremely overpriced designer heel and stalked away. In an attempt to deflect conversation away from myself I asked, "Tyler, have you seen Alice in the past half hour or so?"

He shrugged at my question. "Sure, she's somewhere with Ben, I think. Listen-"

"Where did you last see her?" I followed up hastily before he could continue. This seemed to throw Tyler for a loop and he scratched the back of his head as he pondered my question.

"Uh, out back? Look, Bella-"

"Thanks," I told him over my shoulder, already fleeing for the back yard. I didn't care what Alice was doing right then; if she was making out with some guy in the bushes, I would pull her off of him. No matter what, she was not leaving my side for the rest of the night. Better yet, she and Rose would decide we'd been sufficiently present at this party and agree that it was time to go home.

I found Rose before I found Alice. She was leaning against Emmett, who in turn was leaning against the side of the house. The both looked like they were in pretty good moods. Now was my chance.

"Rose, can we _please_ go home now?" I begged. "I got yelled at by Lauren and hit on by Tyler, so I really feel like I've done my job."

Rose and laughed, a beautifully musical sound. "Was she pissed? What did she say?"

I rolled my eyes. "She said something like oh it's on now, blah blah blah. Seriously, Rose, I think we're done here."

This caused Rose to frown slightly. "Well, we can't leave yet; Emmett's not sober enough to drive. Are you, baby?" She turned and cooed into Emmett's ear, soliciting a grin and a headshake. I wanted to cry.

"I can drive," I offered, desperately. "_Please."_

Emmett never even stopped shaking his head. "No dice, Bella. No one drives the Jeep but me. Sorry."

"He'll be fine in like an hour, probably less," Rose let me know, as if this would be a great source of comfort.

I was trapped here for another hour. That meant an entire of hour of fearing Lauren and the rest of Chi Nu, an entire hour of avoiding Tyler and of watching Mike flirt and God only knew what else with Jessica Stanley. I hated college.

I tried to get back to the bathroom, thinking I could just hide out in there for at least a good forty-five minutes, but Tyler was waiting to pounce the second that I got back inside.

"Bella, can we talk?" he entreated me, taking me by the hand. I stared at him with my jaw slack as he went on, "I just feel like, you know, we never really got to know each other well enough... and now that we're both available..."

Out of the corner of my eye I spied Mike watching us closely over Jessica's shoulder as she whispered something into his ear. Their hands were on each others' waists and the sight of it made me feel sick. I had to get out of here.

"Uhm, look, Tyler," I said, forcing myself to redirect my attention to him. "I think you're a great guy, but-"

"You do?" he asked, looking pleased. He took a step closer, still holding my hand, and I saw Mike stiffen. Well, at least that was working. I could feel tears pricking at my eyes and I was terrified that I was going to begin bawling right in the middle of this awful, shitty party.

"Yes, but, I don't think that-" I tried again, hopelessly, to explain my lack of interest to Tyler. Again I was interrupted, but this time it was by Mike's approach, Jessica in tow.

"Tyler." He nodded his head coolly in his supposed best friend's direction. Jessica was smirking and I could tell by the way her facial muscles were relaxed that she was drunk. So was Mike. So was everyone else here but me, probably.

"Mike." Tyler nodded back, equally flat.

Ohhhkay then, this had officially gotten too uncomfortable for me. In Tyler's momentary distraction I managed to free my hand from his. Before any of them could say something to me I took off at a near run, pushing through the throng of college kids to get to the front door and my freedom. It was time to go, Emmett's Jeep or no. I would just have to walk home. All three miles. In the cold. With no jacket.

I began to cry then, now that I was alone and didn't know what else to do. I would have preferred being back at the station house to this; at least that had felt minutely familiar to me. This was... this was terrible. I couldn't believe how mad I was at Rosalie for getting me into a bad situation not once, but twice. If she thought I was going to forgive her so easily this time around, she had another thing coming. I wasn't going to talk to her for a week. I wasn't going to talk to her for a _month._

Headlights flashed on me and a car rolled up to the curb next to me. It was Mike, and he lowered his window to address me.

"Bella, honey, get in. We need to talk."

"Don't call me honey! I'm not your honey!" I shot back angrily, my arms crossed over my chest in a self-hug that did nothing to keep me warm. It was freezing.

"Don't do that. Let's talk okay?" He was stopped now, and for some stupid reason I had stopped too.

"Are you even sober enough to drive?" I demanded. He certainly hadn't looked it back at the party; I was sure he wasn't.

"Well, I couldn't let you just run off like that!" Mike sound frustrated. He thudded his hand on the steering wheel. "Come on, get in, Bella. I'll park and we can talk okay?"

"I don't want to talk to you, Michael Newton," I cried. Now my tears were spilling down my cheeks, ruining my eyeliner and probably making me look like a hot mess. "Leave me alone!"

"Damn it, Bella!" Now Mike was getting out of the car, coming to join me on the sidewalk. He grabbed me by the wrist and attempted to pull me around to the passenger door. "It's fucking cold out here! You're not walking home."

"Well, you're not driving me!" I yelled, trying to yank my arm free. Mike held fast.

"I'm not letting you walk home," he announced, and his voice took on a foreignness that made me feel instantly ill at ease.

"Let go, you're hurting me! Mike, let go!' I struggled further, but it was no good. Growing panicked, I reach up with my free hand and slapped him across the face with all my might, causing his head to jerk back. When he looked at me again his eyes were glinting with fury. _Uh oh..._

"What the _fuck,_ Bella?" Mike spat, wrenching my arm hard in his grip. I winced at the pain that shot through it. "I'm trying to be nice here!"

I was bawling now, the tears running hot and fast down my cheeks as I gave up trying to pull away. I didn't know what to do. The panic was beginning to overwhelm me. I should just let Mike drive me home. It wasn't that far; he'd probably get me there safely... _No! Bella, what the hell are you thinking? Scream for help! Or something! He's hurting you!_

He _was_ hurting me. My wrist was stinging with sharp pain that was jolting up through my forearm, and my fingers were beginning to tingle with the onset of numbness. Yet something was stopping me from calling out for help. This was Mike for crying out loud. _Mike_. I'd known him for two and a half years. We'd dated for almost two. I _knew_ him. He wasn't going to hurt me. Was he?

"Mike, please," I pled quietly, attempting to appear calm. "I just need some time alone, okay? Please? You're hurting me."

He sneered, rubbing his cheek. "I'm not letting you walk home in the cold, Bella. Get. In. The. Car."

"Oh, that's okay," a voice rang out cheerfully behind us. "We'll give her a ride, won't we Jazz?"

I spun around in the direction of the voice and immediately winced at the way this caused my arm to twist in Mike's grasp.

Well I would be God damned. It was the two guys from the police station, strolling over from a pickup truck about forty feet down the street. I didn't know which one of them had spoken, but as they stepped under a street light I saw the easy grins on their faces. Almost amiable, even. There was something hard and frightening in their eyes, though. I shivered and Mike's grip became impossibly tighter.

"Thanks, but I've got it. Come on Bella." Mike jerked me toward him and I moved involuntarily, nearly losing my footing. _Ow_!

"Oh, no, we _really_ don't mind," The bronze-haired one said, his voice dripping with a false sweetness. I wasn't at all sure I was any safer with them than I was with Mike. My options were drunk and pissed off ex-boyfriend or two total strangers who were probable felons, one of whom had seemed to hate me. The odds did not look good. _You are so screwed, Bella. Scream. Scream for all you're worth._ I was paralyzed except for my tears.

There was a tense moment during which the two lanky guys came closer and Mike's eyes darted back and forth between them in silent contemplation. Finally he dropped my wrist, causing me to stare at him in wide eyed horror. He was going to leave me. Mike was going to leave me with these guys. _Oh my God._

"Enjoy your ride home, Bella," Mike intoned ominously as he climbed back into his car. I was about to cry "No! Wait!" but before I had the chance he was gone. I was now alone with two drunken fighting car thieves. _Scream. Scream._

I couldn't make the sound come out of my throat.

*************

**Author's note: **

**Thank all of you for the reviews! I am going to go through and reply to everyone individually, but I wanted to make sure you collectively knew how much I appreciate it. Seriously. This is my first time writing fanfiction, so I am extremely grateful for any feedback you may have (be it complimentary or contructive criticism). I will have a new chapter up tomorrow, and I do plan on updating very often!**


	4. Chapter 4

**EPOV**

When you're filling out a job application, one of the ticky boxes you'll invariably find on the form is, "Have you ever been convicted of a crime other than a traffic-related offense? If yes please explain below." Note that this is not necessarily a deal breaker. If you check "yes" and your explanation is something like, "My girlfriend and I got into a drunken yelling match outside her dorm back in '88," for example, you're good. You can also always lie and say no, and 95% of potential employers will never check this. If they do and find out you lied, though, well then you've just committed another crime, haven't you?

At that point in my life, I was long past bothering to apply for the kinds of jobs that require you to fill out an application. If I needed work I did day labor and contracting. The kinds of gigs where a friend of a friend passes your name along or else you just show up and ask if they need someone. In that line of work, pretty much everyone else is in the same boat you are: jail time under their belt, illegal immigrant, an angry ex-wife they're hiding income from, the list goes on. Let's just say that by now, another misdemeanor conviction wasn't going to bust my balls.

Ultimately, however, I was right and we were let off without even being arraigned. Jazz and I each agreed to perform 20 hours of community service down at La Push, the Quileute reservation, and we were on our way home by the following afternoon with nary an additional scratch on us besides my slightly fucked up shoulder and fucking killer hangovers.

Jazz didn't have a job either, being in much the same boat I was. Besides, he had this sweet gig with a trust fund set up by his grandparents, and we didn't exactly have a high-cost lifestyle. We went home and slept straight through until the next day, then spent the rest of the week bumming around. It was a nice lifestyle. I enjoy not having any obligations to other people even more than I enjoy not having to be responsible for anyone else.

The county prosecutor who assigned us the community service had let us know that we were to report to a man by the name of Sam Uley at 10am the following Saturday morning. Jazz was especially bitchy about this, 10am being a good several hours before the time he generally preferred to wake up, but we gave our word that we'd be there. So it was that bright and (far too) early on Saturday morning, Jazz and I piled into his pickup and headed down the highway to La Push.

"How do you think we're going to find this guy?" Jazz wanted to know as he navigated the narrow road into the reservation. I shrugged.

"Ask around? I don't know, someone's got to know who he is, right?"

Sure enough the very first person we asked, an older man outside of the general store, gave us directions right to the Uley house. I wondered how many people there were around this place. I'd never been to a reservation myself, since like pretty much every tribe in the Midwest all the Native Americans in Illinois had been forced onto reservations down in Oklahoma. It looked like a nice enough place though; maybe a touch sparse.

When we arrived at Sam Uley's house there was a man maybe a few years older than Jazz and I sitting on the porch drinking a beer. A fucking beer. At ten in the morning. This was my kind of place for sure. Jazz threw the truck into park and we hopped out.

"Sam Uley?"

He nodded and grinned, giving us a once over. Jazz's eye was mostly healed up by now, the last vestiges of his injury being a tiny cut near his temple and a little yellowness.

"So what did you boys do?" he asked, looking amused by our presence. Jazz smiled back and leaned against his car.

"Do? Oh, no, we thought this would look good on our college apps."

The man snorted and set down his beer. "I'll bet you did. Either one of you know anything about cars?"

I shook my head. That was Jazz's department all the way.

"A little. Nothing European though," Jazz answered him casually. "You have something you need me to take a look at?"

"In a way." Sam came down off the porch now and offered his hand to each of us in turn. "Names?"

"I'm Edward," I told him, "and this is Jazz."

"Jazz? What kind of a nickname is that?" he peered at my friend curiously. Jazz shrugged and grinned affably.

"Beats the hell out of Jasper," he pointed out. Sam laughed.

"I'll give you that. Okay, come with me and I'll talk while we walk."

We followed Sam down the road for about half a mile as he explained that he didn't really have any work for us. The county prosecutor was always sending him kids for "community service," like this was some profound charity the Quileute should be extremely grateful for. Sam admitted it annoyed him, like it was condescending or something. Jazz and I exchanged a glance and I could tell we agreed that we liked Sam.

"Anyway, you have to be here, and I have to say that you're out here doing shit or whatever, so this is what I've got."

We stopped at the drive of a two story frame house that was basically exactly the same as every two story frame house in this part of the state, Jazz's and mine included. Beside it sat an unattached garage with the door open and someone splayed out underneath a seriously rusted out truck.

"A Studebaker?" Jazz asked in disbelief, his eyes raking over the vehicle. Sam nodded as if this were perfectly reasonable.

"It surely is." He threw his head back and yelled, "Hey, Jake, man, come out here."

The body under the car shifted and a head appeared. The kid, maybe about eighteen or nineteen and tall with a long black ponytail, stood up and tossed a wrench aside.

"Hey Sam."

Sam slapped Jazz on the back then and gestured toward the kid. "Jazz, this is Jake. Jake, this is Jazz. He's going to help you with the truck, alright?"

Jake flashed bright white teeth that would make any dentist proud. "Jazz, huh? As in Jazz hands?"

"Fuck you," Jazz replied, grinning. He headed up the drive and the two were soon engaged in conversation, leaving Sam and I alone.

"Okay, right then. Edward, was it? So I don't know, what can you do?"

I ran my hand through my hair and considered his question. "Uhm, repairs and things, I guess. Basic carpentry? Plumbing? That kind of thing."

"What about wiring?" Sam wanted to know.

"What like in a house? Sure."

This seemed to please Sam. "Alright, yeah. Come with me."

In all, community service at La Push had to be about the easiest punishment for criminal activity that I'd encountered. Sam left me at the house of one Mrs. Clearwater, whose dining room light had mysteriously stopped working even with fresh bulbs. She gave me access to her husband's old tools and it took me all of about five minutes to discover what the problem was. I went and found her in the kitchen, where she and a pretty girl with silky black hair were baking something.

"All taken care of," I let her know. I felt more than a little awkward alone in this house with them and wondered if I should just excuse myself and walk back to Sam's or the garage where Jazz was working. "Is there anything else you want me to take a look at while I'm here?"

Mrs. Clearwater tilted her head to the side while her daughter studiously avoided looking at me. Good, then, at least I wasn't the only who found this uncomfortable.

"Leah's bedroom door sticks when you try to open and close it. Is that something you could fix?"

"Yeah, sure," I agreed. "It's probably just warped."

"Leah, go show – I'm sorry, Edward was it? Go show Edward which door is yours."

The girl shot her mother a wide eyed look, then nodded and shuffled out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Poor kid. She pointed me to her bedroom and I could tell she was blushing, so I tried to put forth the effort and smile.

"Alright thanks."

She took my words for dismissal and fled back to the kitchen, a relief for both of us.

I avoided looking into the room itself because I didn't want to see that shit any more than she didn't want me to see it. I was right – the door was warped. All it needed was some sanding. Okay, a lot of sanding. I found sand paper in the garage and spent the next two hours at it, stopping only to eat the sandwich Mrs. Clearwater brought me for lunch. Nice family. Too nice. It suffocated and made me want to leave the house as soon as I could. Sam said the father passed away from a heart attack last year. There was another kid off running around somewhere on the reservation. I wanted to feel bad for Mrs. Clearwater for being a single mother, yet I couldn't bring myself to do it. At least she didn't come off like a total bitch or anything close to that.

It was mid-afternoon when I finished, so I went to see how Jazz and Jake were coming along with that ancient truck. Not very well, it appeared.

"This thing is a piece of shit," Jazz announced matter—of-factly, wiping oily hands on a rag and cocking his head at the behemoth he was meant to be working on.

"Yeah well give me another free car then," Jake pointed out, thumping it on the hood lovingly. "Anyway, I'll get 'er running."

"Yeah, with a new engine, a new drive shaft and a new clutch," Jazz responded. His words were lost on me as I leaned against the garage wall and watched them. What the hell was a drive shaft? Why did that sound vaguely sexual to me? Man, I needed to get laid.

The two of them had worked up an easy banter, and I listened to them for the rest of the afternoon, handing them tools and helping when an extra set of hands were necessary. It honestly didn't feel like work, and Jake was a nice guy. Too chatty. I'm not much of a talker. When it started getting dark out Sam came and found us.

"How's it going, Jake?"

"We're getting there." The kid was an eternal optimist, I'd give him that much, because as far as I could tell they hadn't made a damn bit of progress. Sam just nodded at this and let him know it was probably time to hang it up for the day. Then he turned to Jazz and I and made a gesture with his open hand like he was offering something.

"Listen, some of the guys and I are going to go down to the Call's to have some beers if you're interested. Jake, you too, but you gotta ask Billy first. He's home from fishing."

Jake nodded. "Alright, see you guys there." He bounded off to the house. I was beginning to get the distinct impression that this Sam guy basically ran things around here. I wondered if he had an official title or something.

"Not too painful, right?" Sam wanted to know as the three of us walked back down the road to Jazz's truck. This guy whose place we'd been invited to lived at the other end of La Push. "You come back next Saturday and like the one after that and we should be all squared up. I can say you've paid your debt to society and Mrs. Clearwater can say her rain gutters got cleaned out."

We chilled for the next several hours at some guy named Embry Call's parents' house, drinking and talking on the dilapidated back patio. I decided that La Push was like a tiny haven within Clallum County of people who weren't total pricks. Actually, I wasn't even sure we were within the county limits anymore. These guys were the right combination of easy-going and embittered, and everyone on the reservation seemed genuinely nice, even as they mocked us shamelessly about Jazz's nickname, our accents, and our Japanese car.

This was a welcome change from Port Angeles, where we were getting tired of feeling like outsides all the time. Not college kids; not Townies. As far as I was concerned, La Push was a perfectly good place to get drunk and hang out on a Saturday night. Shit, at least no one was getting punched or booked.

It was midnight before we left, completely sober and pleased with our day. Jazz voiced the opinion that if this was what committing a felony amounted to in Clallum County, then he'd been wasting time abiding the law. I agreed. We decided to stop and get some whiskey on the way home, but by then any place selling hard liquor in Forks was closed. It was on to Port Angeles, then, with the hopes of better luck.

I closed my eyes and let my forehead rest against the passenger side window of the truck. Something about watching Mrs. Clearwater baking with her daughter had really stuck with me and it was bothering me now, making my head hurt. That was how moms were supposed to be, right? All nurturing and shit. Taking care of their kids. I wondered what that felt like for her kids. It looked like it felt damn good. Shit, she brought me a fucking sandwich, on a real plate no less, without me even saying anything. I didn't like it. I'd wanted to get the hell out of there when she brought me food just because it made me so uncomfortable, but I couldn't so I smiled and took it and was barely able to eat it.

Mothers, man, they made me uneasy every time. The good ones made me feel a little sick and the shitty ones filled me with this like irrational fear it was hard for me to get a lock on. If Mrs. Clearwater had been yelling at her daughter instead of helping her bake cookies, I would have _had_ to bolt. And being there and recognizing that made me bothered as hell now in Jazz's truck. It wasn't Mrs. Clearwater's fault, but I didn't want to be back at her house next weekend watching her love her kids like that. It was only going to make me start resenting them when I didn't want to resent them. I didn't want to blame Mrs. Clearwater when my own mother-

"Hey, man, isn't that one of those chicks from the police station?" Jazz was slowing down the truck and leaning forward to peer out of his windshield. I copied him. Shit, it was. The brunette. The one who cursed at me.

"Looks like trouble in paradise," Jazz noted as we passed her. The girl was standing on the sidewalk arguing with some guy. He was holding her by the wrist and she kept trying to get her hand free. It didn't look like it was working out so well for her.

"Pull over."

Jazz brought the truck up to the curb a little ways down the block and we climbed out to double back on foot. The street was quiet and we could easily hear what the girl and her male companion were saying to each other.

"...Please? You're hurting me."

The guy gave her this really pissed off look that was jaundiced and grotesque in the yellow streetlight. "I'm not letting you walk home in the cold, Bella. Get. In. The. Car."

Jazz and I shot each other glances and he nodded the go ahead to me. Oh, Jasper was so ready for this. I knew he was thinking his day could not possibly get any better than this kind of happy ending. Fucking Jazz. _Here we go, then._

I announced in a loud, clear voice, "Oh that's okay. We'll give her a ride, won't we Jazz?"

Beside me Jazz was grinning and I heard him suppressing a laugh. Jazz loves to shit stir. This white knight thing was right up his alley, and not necessarily because he liked doing good deeds. Half the time he just wanted the fight it was probably going to result in.

Both the guy and the girl turned to look at us and the girl's face twisted in pain from the way her arm was being bent behind her. I flinched. Who the fuck hurts a girl like that? Son of a bitch. The guy stared at Jazz and I, clearly not sure how to deal with our sudden presence. I gave him a cold stare right back, my lips curved into a smile. _Fuck with me, shit heel. I fucking dare you. _I _wanted_ him to fuck with me. I could see in his eyes that he wouldn't.

"Thanks, but I've got it," he said instead, beginning to back away toward his car and pulling the girl backward with him. "Come on Bella."

She stumbled from the unexpected movement and nearly fell on the sidewalk. My eyes narrowed as Jazz and I continued our approach.

"Oh, no, we _really_ don't mind," I informed the guy. By now Jazz and I were close enough that if he made for the car with the girl, he wouldn't have enough time. He could see that too, and I watched in pitiless amusement as he appeared to weigh his options. Meanwhile, the girl was like whimpering and glancing at us, and it was obvious she recognized us like we'd recognized her.

Shit, she looked bad. Her eye makeup was running and her hair was a mess. I found myself getting more and more pissed off, the smile hardening on my face as I watched her "friend." Next to me Jazz twitched like he was getting antsy and brought his hand over to rub his fist. That was enough to make up the guy's mind.

He dropped the girl's wrist and told her, "Enjoy your ride home, Bella," before climbing back into his car. I had plenty of opportunity to grab him by the collar of his jacket and beat the shit out of him anyway if I wanted to, but I didn't. After all, this was a little different than a bar fight. And who knew what the girl would tell the cops? Chicks are dumb; they stick up for their bastard boyfriends all the damn time.

As it was she looked shocked and panicked to realize he was leaving her. _Sure, sweetheart, clearly he was the better bargain here. _His car sped off and she turned to gape at us, her lips parted like she was about to say something. Instead she let out a squeak. Yeah, okay. So she was a little scared of us. That was fair. We'd come on strong

"Are you alright?" Jazz asked, concerned. The girl nodded dumbly, still staring at us. I wanted to laugh at her kind of. What I actually did was peel off my sweatshirt and hold it out to her.

"You've got to be freezing," I said. "You've got goosebumps. Bella, right? Take my hoodie."

This set her into action.

"No, uhm. I mean. Thank you. Thank you but I'm fine. I just uhm. I need to get home. But thank you," she stammered almost incoherently and hugged her arms across her chest, then made a move to pass us and keep walking. Jazz arched an eyebrow at me. _What now?_

"Alright, well, if you're going to walk home, will you please at least take my sweatshirt?" I persisted. She didn't expect that one. I didn't know what the hell she was expecting.

"Oh! Uhm. I shouldn't..." the girl trailed off lamely. When I made no move to withdraw my sweatshirt, though, she took it and shrugged into it meekly. I hated that she was scared of us. I felt guilty again for trying to intimidate her before, at the jail, saying shit about her daddy the way I had.

"Let us give you a ride, Bella." I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to find a polite way to phrase myself. "It's balls cold out here, and you shouldn't be walking by yourself in the middle of the night."

"Your buddy might come back looking for you," Jazz pointed out. I shot him a look and he shrugged. It was true enough, really. Dude probably thought he was leaving his chick to be, like, sexually accosted. When he began to feel bad about what he'd done, odds were good he'd come back.

"What are your names?" she wanted to know. Oh, I guess we hadn't properly introduced ourselves, had we? Her big pretty brown eyes were rimmed red from crying and there were streaks of mascara in the tears on her cheeks. _Sucks to be her._

"Edward." I pointed to myself.

"Jazz. Pleasure to meet you." I rolled my eyes. Such the southern fucking gentleman.

For some reason knowing our names seemed to calm Bella down, and she followed us back to Jazz's car and let me help her up into the cab. Once Jazz was following her directions I held out my hand for hers.

"Let me see your wrist."

It was going to be bruised as hell in the morning. Christ, he'd really hanging on to her tight, hadn't he? Motherfucker. I almost asked her where he lived so Jazz and I could go back and start shit for real, but something told me she wouldn't be down for that. She looked like a good girl. _A daddy's girl_, I reminded myself.

"Put ice on that as soon as you get inside," I advised. "Otherwise that shit's going to swell up like no other."

"Was that your boyfriend?" Jazz asked, looking at me over the top of her head. I turned my face away and went back to my earlier activity of staring out the window.

"_Ex_-boyfriend," Bella clarified. Well. Good, I guess. Fucker should leave her the hell alone if that was how he was going to do things. I wondered if that was why they broke up. I wondered what they were fighting about. I wondered why the hell I wondered. And then I was mad at myself for wondering, and _then_ I was mad at her for giving me something to wonder about.

"You have shitty taste in men," I tossed out nonchalantly, watching the houses as we flew by them. I could hear her suck in a breath.

"Thanks for the input," the girl said sarcastically. I turned to look at her now.

"Take it as well-meant advice," I told her, fighting back the sneer I wanted to give by reflex.

"Why do you have to be such a jerk?" she demanded. On the other side of her Jazz stifled a laugh by pretending to cough. I glared at him.

"I don't know, I heard that's what you went for," I shot back. She bit her lip and I could tell I had crossed a line. Fuck. Fuck my temper.

"It's this one."

Jazz pulled into the empty driveway and I got out so Bella could, not looking at her as I did so. I followed her up to the porch and glanced around the neighborhood. Everyone else was asleep by now. I wanted to make sure she got inside and locked the door in case her asshole ex-boyfriend decided to swing by and check on her. I also wanted my sweatshirt back.

"Did you need something?" she asked sharply once she had the door open and was halfway inside. I stared meaningfully at my sweatshirt and then back up at her angry face. She didn't get it. I sighed.

"Just make sure you lock your door, alright?" I replied, walking back to Jazz's truck. Fuck it; I could get a new sweatshirt. It wasn't worth it.

After our "adventure", Jazz and I agreed that we just wanted to go home and go to bed. He three-pointed the truck and we took off in the direction we'd come from, heading back to the highway. For the rest of the ride home Jazz knew better than to say anything to me, recognizing the hard expression on my face. That's one of the things I like about Jazz; he can always tell how I'm feeling without my having to spell it out for him. He always knew when to leave me the hell alone.

Back at our place I went right up the stairs in the dark and climbed onto my bed fully clothed. The day's mild labor and the adrenaline of a near-fight had been enough to wear me out. Not to mention I'd gotten pissed, and that always made me weary. Nevertheless, it was hours before I was finally able to fall asleep. Tomorrow I was going to sit around and do fucking nothing all by myself all damn day. It was going to be wonderful. Fuck everyone else.

*************

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! I just wanted to say thank you all so much again for reading. What do you guys think of Edward and Bella so far? Jasper? Anything you guys want to hear more about? Let me know how I'm doing; I love reading your reviews. :)  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**BPOV**

The minute I was alone I crumpled onto the sofa and commenced bawling my eyes out. I didn't even know what to think about the things that had just happened. Mike hurt me. He _hurt_ me. _Well, he wasn't like slapping you around. He just got carried away._ Yeah right. I bet that's what they all say. I held out my arm and pushed up a sleeve to examine it closely, the crying blurring my vision. It was red and puffy now, and I wondered what it would look like in the morning. No one had ever hurt me before, not even in play-fighting, and I had no idea how I was supposed to feel about it. I hugged my legs to my chest, getting the knees of Alice's leggings wet with tears and snot. Beautiful.

There was the sound of car doors slamming outside, and then footsteps filled the kitchen.

"Bella?" Alice was calling through the house. "Are you here?"

"She's here," Rose said, quieter, as she entered the living room. She sat next to me on the sofa and frowned. "What the hell happened?"

"M-M-Mike and I got into a f-fight and he wouldn't let go of m-my arm a-and-and..." I stuttered, sniveling a little.

"What?!" Rose screeched, jumping back to her feet. "Emmett! Emmett get in here!"

Emmett strode in with a soda in one hand and a sheepish expression on his face. He always got that look when Rose was pissed – a smart sense of self-preservation, in the event that it was he who had raised her ire. When he saw me his face became confused instead.

"You alright Bella?" he asked.

"That dirty no good son of a bitch..." Rose let out a string of profanity that I only barely listened to. She was insisting Emmett take her back to the party so that she could give Mike hell. That's one of the things I love about her. It wasn't "Emmett go kick Mike's ass," it was "Emmett take _me_ to kick Mike's ass." I wished I were that fierce. The next thing I knew Alice was beside me on the sofa with her arm around me, giving me a squeeze.

"What were you fighting about?" she inquired gently. I opened by mouth to respond, but Rose swung back to us in the middle of her rant.

"It doesn't _matter_ what they were fighting about!" she fumed angrily. "Look at her _wrist!_"

Alice did just that, gingerly lifting my arm to inspect the damage. She stopped and raised her head to look at me, and I didn't understand why she looked so confused.

"Whose sweatshirt is this?" she wanted to know. Oh. Shit.

"Uhm, this guy's..." I was deliberately vague and I withdrew my arm from Alice's hand and huddled up again. "He and his friend gave me a ride home."

"Who?" Rose demanded to know.

"I don't really know," I lied. "Just two guys. They were probably leaving the same party. They saw Mike and me fighting and offered to give me a ride home."

Rose was staring at me as though I had just told her I backhanded kittens for fun. "You just got in their car? Jesus, Bella."

"Well it's not like I had a whole lot of options!" I cried. "What was I going to do? Go with Mike? You said Emmett couldn't drive!"

"Hey, don't pin this on me," Emmett said defensively, raising his hands palms outward. "I didn't see anything go down." This set off a fresh round of Rose insisting he take her back to the party. At least she seemed to have forgotten about the other part of my story. For now.

"Let's go put some ice on your wrist, Bella," Alice suggested, helping me to my feet. I followed her into the kitchen, leaving Rose and Emmett to their very one-sided argument.

"I don't want them fighting over me," I told Alice, feeling bad. That was like the last thing I needed.

"Oh, don't worry," Alice consoled me as she swung open the fridge door. "For one thing, Emmett knows better than to talk back. And for another, the makeup sex is going to be amazing once she calms down enough to drag him upstairs."

"Ugh." My gut lurched at the thought. It was the perfect ending to a perfectly terrible night.

"So what exactly happened? From the beginning to the end?" Alice inquired, filling a Ziploc bag with ice cubes for me. I shrugged.

"It was so weird, Alice. And awful. Mike was there with Tyler's girlfriend Jessica, except I guess she and Tyler aren't together anymore, because Tyler was hitting on me. And then so Mike came over to confront Tyler, and I just like ran away."

We seated ourselves and the kitchen table so I could ice my wrist and Alice tilted her head to the side.

"Wait, so when did you argue with Mike?"

"He came after me," I told her, cringing at the way that sounded like a line out of a Lifetime Original Movie. "I mean, to try to get me to talk to him. But I didn't want to talk to him and plus he was drunk and shouldn't have been driving so I told him I was walking home-"

"All three miles?" Alice shook her head.

"I don't know! I was upset! And then he got out of the car and grabbed my wrist and wouldn't let go and I was all freaking out. And then these two guys came along and scared Mike away and gave me a ride home, and one of them let me wear his sweatshirt."

"That was nice of them," Alice said soothingly. "Were they guys from the party? Do we know them?"

I hesitated. "Er... no... and yes..."

She frowned, trying to decipher my answer. "No they weren't from the party and yes we do know them?"

I mentally pictured Edward and Jazz flanking me in the pickup truck as they drove me back to my house. I should have been nicer about it – they did me a big favor. But then Edward, the bronze haired one, went and said shitty things to me. Why did he have to do that, being nice to me just to be a jerk to me later? Ass.

"Yeah... Alice?"

"Yeah?"

I made my voice as low as possible, even though Rose and Emmett were still preoccupied in the other room. I couldn't hear Rose yelling anymore; now they were speaking in hushed tones. _Gross._

"Do you remember those two guys from when we got arrested?"

Alice's eyes widened and she let out a squeal before clamping her own hand dramatically over her mouth. I bit my lip and nodded, feeling my cheeks flush. Looking down at the sweatshirt I silently berated myself for neglecting to return it to Edward. That must have been why he followed me to the door. Why hadn't he just asked me for it?

"Yeah, well, promise you won't tell Rose," I insisted. Alice nodded.

"So what are you going to do?" she wanted to know.

I glanced down at the sweatshirt again. "I don't know. I guess I could call the police station and get an address-"

Alice cut me off gently. "I meant about Mike. You can't just let him get away with treating you like that."

_Oh_. I hadn't really thought about that, actually. I supposed she was right but then, what would I do? Report him? Sic Rose on him? That was a fate I would only barely wish on my worst enemy.

"I guess just avoid him," I decided. "If he tries to call me or talk to me on campus or something, I'll ignore him."  
"Good idea. Come on, it's bed time. You're better off getting in the earplugs and trying to fall asleep now, while you still have the chance."

I let Alice lead me up the stairs to the bathroom. When I saw my reflection in the mirror, I was horrified. My makeup was all over the place and my eyes were red and puffy. I resembled a monster from an old Hollywood movie. Alice laughed off my lamentations and helped me brush through my hair. Before long I was in fresh pajamas and crawling into bed, earplugs in place.

I had worried that it would be hard for me to fall asleep with all the thoughts racing through my head, but in the end I was so exhausted that I fell asleep almost right away. Not even Rose and Emmett going at it two rooms over (assuming they had made it up the stairs, of course) was enough to disturb my slumber. I woke feeling completely refreshed for a change and ready to start my day.

The first thing I did was wash the sweatshirt, along with the rest of my outfit from the night before. No one wants their clothes handed back to them with tear and snot stains on them, now do they? While I was waiting for them to dry I looked up the number for the Clallum County Police Department and gave them a ring. They probably wouldn't give me what I was looking for, but it was the best lead I had.

"Police Department non-emergency line, how can I help you?"

"Hello, yes, my name is Bella Swan. I'm calling about a gentleman who was arrested last Saturday night or early Sunday morning. I don't have his last name but his first name is Edward."

There was a pause at the other end of the line, like the woman had no idea what to do with what I'd just said, so I decided to plow ahead.

"The thing is, he loaned me his sweatshirt and I need to return it but I don't have an address..."

"Ma'am, I can't give out that information," she informed me curtly. Damn. I went over my options in my head before sighing. Sorry, Dad.

"I understand that. However, my father, Chief Swan of the Forks Police department-"

"Chief Swan?" Her voice dropped low and I knew she was remembering what had essentially been the only police casually in this part of the state for over a decade. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed the thought out of my head. _I'm doing this for a good reason, Dad,_ I thought to myself, _I'm trying to do the right thing here._

"Yes ma'am. Anyway I only want to return the sweatshirt and I'm afraid I have no other way of getting in contact with him."

"Just a moment, hun." I could hear the sympathy, the pity in her voice. It made me uncomfortable, but I reminded myself that it was my fault for bringing my father up in the way I had.

Even now, two and a half years later, it was still hard to think about my dad's death. When Deputy Laurent had come to my house in person, I knew straight away that something was wrong. The rest of that week was blank numbness to me, the sympathy calls and the funeral arrangements the Department handled for me. I wondered if it would ever get any easier. The day I left for college I locked up the house and didn't look back, even though it was only a 45 minute drive from where I lived now. My father owned the house outright and one of our neighbors, a very kind woman named Doris, looked after it for me. She insisted it was "no trouble at all."

"Let's see now, you said this was early last Sunday morning?" The woman was back on the phone now, and I could hear the clicking of computer keys in the background.

"Yes ma'am," I responded politely.

"I have one Edward Cullen, age twenty-five, six foot one, reddish brown hair and green eyes. Would that be him?"

"Yes, that's him." Thank goodness. This was actually going to work.

"It turns out you're in luck. Mr. Cullen was previously registered with the State Parole Board, so his address is a matter of public record. But hun, I don't think you should be consorting with those types."

The parole board? Yikes. Before I could stop myself I asked, "What was he on parole for?" At least he was no longer on parole now. Right? _Yeah Bella, like that makes a difference._

"Assault, looks like. Two charges, both from Cook County, Illinois. I don't have the particulars here on my computer, but he's not the sort of boy you ought to be getting to know." She sounded so disapproving it would have been funny if it weren't for the fact that she was kind of scaring the crap out of me. I pictured Edward again, being dragged around the police station by his handcuffs as he glared at me. Assault. Auto theft. Felonies. Violence. And I had gotten into a car alone with him and his friend. Well I was stupid.

"I don't know him; I only wanted to return the sweatshirt," I managed hoarsely. There was more clicking.

"That's real sweet of you, hun. The world needs more people like you. Do you have a pen ready?"

She gave me address that put Edward Cullen right across the highway from Olympic National Park, and I thanked her before hanging up. I was no longer sure that I actually wanted to see the guy ever again, and I felt idiotic that this had not occurred to me before. _Where did you meet him first, Bella? Oh, right. JAIL._ But I had been there too, hadn't I? It's not right to just judge people based on appearances. _Oh, you mean like a busted up nose and handcuffs and a glare that made you want to cry?_

The more I thought about it, the less sure I was about what I wanted to do. Some part of me, probably the larger part of me, wanted to forget about the damn sweatshirt. He knew where I lived; if he wanted it, he could come back for it. _Shit, he knows where you live._ The really hadn't seemed all that dangerous, though, once Mike had left. I mean, the blond one, Jazz, had asked me if I was okay like he really cared. And Edward insisted I take his sweatshirt. And if they were going to do something to me, wouldn't they have done it last night when I was alone and defenseless?

That was the other part of me arguing. It said that just because a guy gets into a brawl or two with another guy doesn't mean that he's an A-class criminal. After all, I'd seen Emmett almost get into fights before, and the idea of my being scared of him was ridiculous. And I _really_ wanted to do the right thing here. I was still mad at myself for never thanking them. Jazz, at least, had been perfectly nice to me the entire time. He deserved a thank you. After all, they could have just kept on driving and they didn't.

With this mindset I went up to Alice's room and found her sprawling out on her bed flipping through an issue of Vogue. As if Alice needed any fashion tips.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, looking up as I entered. I gave her my most relaxed smile.

"Much better, thanks. Hey, do you have any plans today?"

"I'm supposed to be reading for Art History, so no." Alice giggled at her own joke and I joined in. She was in a good mood; that was helpful.

"Do you think you could give me a ride somewhere? I want to return this guy's sweatshirt." I tossed out the words casually as I avoided her doubtful expression.

Alice sat up and crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand.

"I don't know, Bella. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

I shrugged, my resolve crumbling faster than I cared to admit. "I just want to drop it off, and then we can go see a movie or something?"

She pondered for only a moment or two before hopping to her feet. "Sure. Ten minutes?"

"Thanks, Alice."

I went back downstairs and pulled the sweatshirt out of the dryer. For some reason I'd felt it necessary to use fabric softener, and it was light and fluffy to the touch. It had once been black but was now so old and worn that it had faded to a very dark grayish. I folded it neatly as Alice bounded down the stairs, and we were off.

"So what are these guys' names, anyway?" She flicked on her wipers to counter the light drizzle that had begun some time during the early morning hours.

"Well, you remember the one with the like almost bronze colored hair that stuck out all over the place? That's Edward. And then the blond one is Jazz."

Alice laughed again, and I envied the cute, musical quality of her giggle. "Jazz? Do you suppose his mom named him that?" I shrugged and she went on, "So one of them has a really weird nickname, and the other one definitely needs _some_ kind of nickname."

She had a point: Edward was a pretty outdated name. It didn't sound like something a dangerous convict would go by. Shouldn't it be some something like Eddie or even just Ed? I didn't care for either of those nicknames, and neither of them went with his face. His features were too delicate, his eyes too intense a shade of green.

With a shock I realized that I found him _attractive_. That was... weird. He was very handsome, though, there was no denying it. His friend too, really, although he wasn't at all my type. Maybe that was why I was having such a difficult time picturing them as dangerous felons. _Remember Bundy_, I reminded myself. _Remember Jeffrey Dahmer. Both generally thought to be attractive men._ Okay, but I wasn't driving out to this house with Alice expecting boiling human skulls or... or whatever the hell it was Bundy had done with his victims. Something awful, I was sure. Bundy would have taken me out last night, not loaned me a sweatshirt and given me a ride home and told me to ice my wrist.

When we found the road off the highway that the house was on, Alice shot me a nervous glance.

"We're like in the middle of nowhere," she pointed out, maneuvering the car onto the unpaved drive. Up ahead I could see the pickup truck parked outside a two story house, and I guessed that the two of them must live here together.

"They're really very nice," I told Alice, simultaneously reassuring both of us. _Very nice, attractive, young, felonious men who live in the middle of the woods. _

The house was in livable condition, which is frankly more than I can say for most of the ones around here. It needed a new paint job and the chain link fence was rusted in places, but at least there weren't cars up on cement blocks or anything like that. Alice hung back on the edge of the porch while I knocked loudly on the door. The truck was here, so they pretty much had to be home if they weren't out hiking or something. They didn't look like nature enthusiasts to me.

There was a faint thud and cursing coming from somewhere within the house and Alice gave me a meaningful look.

"Shit. Hang on!" The voice was louder now, and it was accompanied by the sound of feet on wood. I imagined a person stumbling down wooden stairs in a hurry. Alice and I stood patiently on the porch and waited for whoever it was to answer the door. She looked like she was trying to bite back a laugh.

Finally the door swung open and we were face to face with Jazz, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans with both knees torn through. He was squinting and blinking, and I guessed that my knocking had awoken him.

"Yeah? Oh, shit. Hi. Hi!" He fumbled through a greeting upon recognizing me, then rubbed his eyes at great length. Now Alice could no longer contain the giggle that burst forth from her lips.

Jazz swung his head over to see where it had come from and spotted Alice on the corner of the porch near the railing. At this he blinked more, completely thrown off.

"Hey. Sorry. Hang on one second."

Before I could respond he disappeared back into the house, letting the screen door swing shut behind him. His bare feet padded across the hardwood into the other room and I met Alice's gaze. She continued to laugh, cupping her hand over her mouth in a futile effort to muffle herself.

Jazz returned a few minutes later, still barefoot and shirtless, but at least now he looked more awake. I could help staring at his chest and abs. He'd looked so lean before, but now I could see that he was actually quite muscular. There were a few imperfections on his skin, scars he'd probably gotten as a kid. _Or in fights_, I reminded myself. He imparted a shy grin first on me, then to Alice.

"So. Hi. Sorry about that. Uhm, what can I do for you?" He was talking to me but still smiling at Alice. I fought my annoyance. It figured. I held up Edward's sweatshirt for display.

"Your friend's sweatshirt."

"Oh! Right! Hey, thanks. I don't think he's awake but I'll leave it out for him. Ooh, this is really soft."

Alice giggled as she watched him petting the sweatshirt. Jazz looked up at her and smiled again.

"Do – did you want to come in? Sorry, it's just... no one ever comes over here. Come in! Do you want, like a drink or something?" He swung the screen door open fully to allow us entrance and took a step back into the house. I was about to tell him no thank you, but Alice was already darting past me and under his arm to enter. He looked at me expectantly and I followed.

We stood in the small entryway, and I could see the kitchen to our left. On the right sat the living room and, sure enough, wooden stairs to the second floor. The house was not a pigsty, surprisingly, but it was incredibly sparse from what I could see. Just a small table in the kitchen and the edge of a couch visible in the corner of the living room; no other furniture.

"I'm Alice," my friend chirped now, extending her hand. Jazz shook it politely. "You must be Jazz! I remember you!"

He broke into another bashful grin at her remark and I couldn't believe it. The man was _blushing_. Dangerous felon Jazz was blushing for my house mate. Jeez.

"Yeah, Hi. I... remember you too. I think? Sorry, that night's a little hazy. Come on into the living room."

We followed behind him as he led the way and Alice turned to me to mouth the word "hot" dramatically while pretending to fan herself. I was forced to agree, but at least I was being subtle about it.

Sure enough the living room was empty except for an old (but still fairly clean looking) couch. No coffee table, no television. Just the couch. Alice immediately made herself at home, dropping onto it and sprawling out. I could see that this had become a fun little adventure for her already, a nice break from routine.

"I would love some water, if you're still offering," she informed Jazz. He nodded and turned to me, waiting to see if I wanted anything as well. I politely shook my head.

"He looks a lot better with his eye healed," Alice stage-whispered once we were alone. I sat down next to her and rolled my eyes. Nothing about the room said crazy psycho or rapist, at least. Actually, strolling around in just his jeans like that, Jazz looked like an Abercrombie model or something. His overgrown blond hair was all over the place, hanging in his hazel eyes.

"Here you go," he returned and handed Alice a glass of water. There was an almost-awkward moment during which he looked around for somewhere he could sit. Undaunted, he simply lowered himself to the floor and folded his legs cross-wise. It was a cute, childlike action.

"So, I just wanted to thank you, you know, for last night," I spoke up. "That was really nice of you. I appreciate it. Really. Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem. Are you okay? How's your wrist?"

I flipped my arm over an examined the large purple bruise now covering the skin. Next to me Alice shuddered and took a long drink from her water.

"The swelling's gone down," I said, trying to focus on something positive.

"So what were you arrested for?" Alice blurted. I stared at her in horror, but Jazz just burst out laughing.

"What were _you_ arrested for?" he countered through his amusement. Alice shrugged shamelessly.

"Trespassing."

This tickled him more. "Sounds serious," he said in mock consternation. Oh, God, they were _flirting._ _Somebody kill me now._

"It was nothing," I informed him. "Just a stupid prank."

Jazz nodded thoughtfully.

"_Well?_" Alice prompted him impatiently. He rolled his lips together and scratched his bare chest idly. I tried not to admire his flexing bicep.

"Technically? Public intoxication and disturbing the peace." There, now that didn't sound so bad, did it? Wait, what did _technically_ mean? That cop had said something to Edward about assault and auto theft. Had he just been trying to scare him? That was a common enough technique, I knew. Maybe they weren't such bad guys after all. _Felony assault charges,_ I reminded myself._ Parole board._

Alice demanded details, so Jazz began to recount the tale of his evening with Edward. Apparently they'd gotten into a scuffle in to a bar, which explained their injuries. After that he fuzzed over the details a little, but it sounded like they'd taken off and then for some reason had gone back. Alice and I listened with rapt interest. Jazz finished the story by explaining that it was too expensive to go through court motions over something like a fight, so they'd been ordered to perform community service at La Push. Just as he was going on about how friendly they were on the reservation, there was the sound of someone else coming down the stairs.

All three of our heads swiveled toward the noise and I didn't miss the guilty expression on Jazz's face. Edward was lumbering down the staircase, also just in a pair of (slightly less ragged) jeans. I gawked at his torso, and I know Alice had to be too.

Edward was muscular, like Jazz, but his body was covered in scars. Some of them were slashes and some of them small dots. What the hell kind of weapon made a mark like that, I wondered. I couldn't begin to imagine, but they made him look dangerous. It was a sharp contrast to the Abercrombie model sitting on the floor across from Alice and I. Climbing up the left side of his abdomen was a huge tattoo of what looked like a gnarled, leafless tree that appeared to be growing out of the waistband of his pants.

Edward was rubbing his face and running his hands through his hair, so it was a second before he noticed us. When he did, he jumped back like he'd been electrocuted.

"Jesus fucking Christ what the _fuck?_" The words shot out of his mouth as one bizarre phrase with no pause.

"Hey, man-" Jazz started, but Edward had already turned around and was racing back up the stairs at top speed. As he did so, I glimpsed both the other side of his tattoo and even further disfigurement on his back. "Jesus Christ" was right.

Instantly Jazz was scrambling to his feet, throwing out apologies at us and excusing himself with the promise that he would be right back. He chased his friend up the stairs, leaving Alice and I to gape at each other.

*************

**Author's note: Thank you so much for reading! Any feedback you might have is much appreciated. Hope you're all enjoying the story. **

**There will be another update tomorrow. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**EPOV**

I could hear Jazz following me as I rushed back to my room and slammed the door. Fucking prick. I knew he was going to try to talk to me now so I clicked the lock to keep him out. Un-fucking-believable.

"Edward, come on man," Jazz's voice came muffled through the wood. He was talking quietly, trying not to embarrass the girls downstairs. Man, fuck _them_, what about _me?_ What about how unbelievably humiliated _I _was right now?

"Piss off," I growled at him, digging through my clothes for a clean shirt. I was alone in here but I still felt the need to cover myself immediately. I finally found a plain gray thermal and tugged it over my head. Long sleeves – so much the better.

What were those chicks even doing here? A better question: how the hell had they gotten our address? I thought of Bella's daddy connection again and hissed. She'd probably gotten our address the same way. Why? Why would she go and do something like that?

As if to answer my question Jazz spoke through the door, "Bella brought you your sweatshirt. She says she wanted to thank us." I got what he was doing. He was trying to paint her in this great light so I would feel like a shit for holing myself up in here. I paced my room angrily, running my fingers through my hair over and over again as I tried to get a lock on my emotions. It wasn't happening.

The _looks_ they'd given me. When I was fucking a girl and she made the mistake of trying to pull my shirt over my head. Back when I was fifteen and I'd been going to the Catholic school with the other kids from the group home and one of the Sisters always called me _La Bestia_ when she was pissed at me because I looked so freakish. _That_ look. I hated it. Jazz knew I fucking hated it. Did he not have the fucking decency to tell me he was trying to start to bangfest in the God damn living room when he knew I wandered around shirtless? _Asshole. _

Out in the hall Jazz's footsteps retreated and I knew he was going back downstairs, leaving me to my frustration and embarrassment. I sank down on the edge of my bed and let my body fall backwards onto the mattress. How much longer were they going to be here? How much longer was I stuck up here? Damn it.

When I finally began to calm down, I thought about it again from a more logical perspective. Really, I was only making it worse for myself hiding out up here. They were going to think I was afraid of them or some shit like that. I didn't want anyone thinking I was afraid of them. I couldn't do this; not in my own house. That was just ridiculous. I popped the joints in my shoulders and steeled myself, then shuffled back downstairs.

I could feel them looking at me again, but this time I just ignored them and went straight for the kitchen. We had two beers left in the fridge, and I twisted one of them open using my shirt. _Okay, you're down here. Now what?_ Good question. I stood in the kitchen, trying to think what I should do next. Not go back upstairs; that was defeat. Not go into the living room, because I sure as hell did not want to see The Look again. I felt like an ass just loitering in the kitchen.

For lack of better options, I went out onto the front porch and dropped into the swing to drink my beer. It was cold and rainy, and the air felt good on my bare feet. This was a good choice then. I sprawled out my body on the bench and hung my head over the side, resting my beer on my chest as I lay there. There was the compulsion to go back inside and join them, but I couldn't do it. The humiliation was still there. I didn't mind having to wait for shame to dissipate – that I was used to – but I wasn't going to do it with an audience.

_There're girls in your house._ I closed my eyes and focused on the cold wet sensation of the beer bottle's condensation soaking through my shirt. The air on the bottoms of my feet. _Right inside. Chicks. Hot chicks_. I couldn't believe how insanely pissed I was at Jazz for doing this to me. Fuck him; I was drinking both beers.

The screen door creaked and I knew someone was coming out onto the porch. I chose to ignore whoever it was, keeping my eyes closed. Nice fresh air. Beer. Bare feet. I just wanted to be left the hell alone.

"It's cold out here. I brought you your sweatshirt."

Bella. Possibly the third to last person on earth I wanted to see at that moment, right after my folks. I folded my arm behind my head to prop it up and took a long drink of my beer, still not looking at her.

"Listen, I only came by to return your sweatshirt, and to say thank you for last-"

"How the hell did you get my address?" I wasn't going to be all sweet thank yous and your welcomes for her. Not after getting The Look.

The question threw her, and it was a second before she spoke again. In the silence I almost wanted to look at her. Almost.

"I don't want to fight with you." Pleading, kind of. Ha.

I spread out my hand palm up, balancing the beer on my rib cage temporarily. "Then answer the question. How. Did you get. My address." I knew God damn well how she knew where I lived. She knew I knew it too. Bitch. I picked up my bottle again and finished the last of my beer.

"Why are you so mad at me? I was only trying to be nice!" Bella sounded really upset, like I'd personally hurt her feelings or something. She didn't even _know _me.

_Nice? No one is nice_. I swung my legs around the bench and sat up. It was bad how I felt my temper getting away from me again, but once it starts, there it is. Jazz was stupid for letting her come out here by herself – he had to have known she would piss me off. That was on him.

"I'm so sorry; let's try again," I suggested in mock sweetness. Bella's face relaxed for a moment and I could tell she was mistaking me for genuine. I went on in the same tone, "How about you go back in the house and when you come out here you don't look at me like I'm a fucking freak show, yeah? And then you apologize for stalking me. And then you and I can totally be the best of friends."

Before she had a chance to answer I was on my feet pushing past her to get back into the house. The porch was ruined for me now.

"I'm sorry!" Bella called after me as I stormed into the kitchen and slammed my empty bottle on the counter. At her words I took a deep breath. Apologies are no good. Apologies are worse than saying nothing because the person is only really sorry that they have to apologize.

"Fuck you. Fuck. You." I sneered at her when she caught up with me, my voice so low and quiet that there was nothing left in it but menace. Bella's eyes widened and I knew I'd scared her. Good. I was the one up here. I open the fridge and got the last beer, then turned and went up to my room and banged the door shut for the second time that day. Nice, nothing.

People are not nice and they don't commit kind acts for each other. People do everything to comfort and please themselves. I was no exception to this rule, but at least I didn't operate under the delusion that it doesn't exist. When you do the nice thing for your friend it's out of a need to maintain that friendly relationship because you know people aren't going to want to hang out with you if you give them nothing. When you give the homeless man change you aren't doing it to help him, you're doing it so you can pat yourself on the back about this great thing you did.

But people think they are nice. And sometimes when they are being especially naïve they think other people are nice too. Bella struck me as the kind of person who would assume that deep down everyone is a good person. She'd never had it hard and I could see that just by looking at her. She'd surrounded herself with people who she thinks she genuinely cares about and who she thinks genuinely care for her. And she came here with my fucking sweatshirt so that she could feel like she did a good thing, or so that she could feel less guilty about needing to be rescued and escorted home, and she didn't even know it. She thought she was doing it to be _nice_.

"Edward, I swear to Christ," Jazz called to me through the bedroom door. He didn't sound angry; he sounded apologetic. "As much as you love to channel your inner prick the one time this century that we have company, we're going out. Do you want to come?"

Out? They were going _out_? _Where?_ I wasn't going to ask. "No."

"Alright, that's probably for the best anyway. I don't know what you said to Bella, man, but you freaked the hell out of her. You need to cool that shit down. I'll be back tonight some time, okay? Later, man."

They were going out and he'd be back some time tonight. Of course. Because Jazz had the amazing ability to find a person who for some unknown reason irritated the shit out of me simply by existing and become friends with her. I found myself hoping he would at least be cockblocked; fucker deserved it.

I heard them leave but didn't go out of my room to enjoy my newfound solitude. I was in too shitty a mood. I couldn't remember the last time I had been in such a shitty mood, and I felt even worse because it was like somehow I was not entitled to be in that bad mood. Now that I was by myself I was calming down again, and I began to wonder what it was about Bella that pissed me off so much. Two, no, three times now I'd tried to interact with her and three times it had ended it me losing my temper. That was one hell of a track record.

The longer I remained immobile, sprawled out on my bed and listening to loud music, the more I calmed down. Scaring her – that was kind of a shitty thing to do. There was no real reason to go and do that. Why in Christ's name had Jazz just let her go looking for me like that, knowing how bad my temper was? I hoped I wouldn't have to see the girl again but I felt sure that I could just ignore her if I did. I didn't have to get so mad, did I?

After a while I got so mellow I actually fell asleep again, and when I woke up it was after dark. Shit. That was what I got for drinking two beers on an empty stomach right after crawling out of bed, I guess. I wandered downstairs to find something to eat and noticed that Jazz still was not back yet. What time was it? We didn't have a functional clock in the kitchen – that would just be too easy. I went back upstairs to check and it was at that moment that I heard a car pulling up outside. 8:14pm. Jesus, they'd been gone for like the entire day.

I was about to go downstairs and greet Jazz, but then I heard female voices. He was kidding me. He had to be kidding me. Thudding on the stairs, and then Jazz was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Hey man. We brought you food."

I ran my fingers through my hair. _Just stay calm man; them bringing you food is like the very opposite of something that should irritate you._ "Yeah, okay thanks." It took a pause before I could trust myself to sound casual and not annoyed when I asked, "Why are they back here? Did you take your car or something?" Why the three of them would cram in Jazz's truck when they had a perfectly good sedan was beyond me.

"No, they just had a little bit too much to drink, so they're going to hang out here for a while until one of them is okay to drive again."

"A bit too much?"

"Yeah, uh... They're kind of tanked. I forgot how tiny chicks are."

Fantastic. No _really_. Okay, that was fine. That would be fine. I could ignore.. If I wasn't interacting with Bella, she couldn't piss me off; it was as simple as that. I followed Jazz back down the stairs and went into the kitchen to find the dinner he'd brought me, a sandwich. I'm not exactly a health nut but I'm not putting greasy diner food and shit like that into my body. It makes me feel sick, every time. I cautiously peeled open the bread to find bean sprouts and either chicken or turkey meat. It looked okay.

"It's not from a restaurant; Alice made it," Jazz informed me in an offhanded tone. He knew that saying it was homemade would cement the sandwich's position as edible. I nodded and took a bite.

"Thank her for me," I told him. Jazz rolled his eyes.

"Thank her yourself."

He walked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone to eat. I had to admit, it was a pretty fucking tasty sandwich. Chicken. The sprouts were a nice touch. After I finished it I got up to set my plate in the sink. Just when I was thinking I _would_ say thank you, like really quickly before going back upstairs, Bella came into the kitchen. Stormed in, was more like it. She looked drunk. And pissed. _Uh oh._

"You!" She stalked over to where I was standing by the sink and jabbed a finger in my forearm. "You owe me an apology."

I stared at her. She looked like fury; she smelled like alcohol. I took a small step back.

"I'm sorry," I told her quickly. And I _was_ sorry. Kind of. I was sorry that Bella bugged the ever-loving shit out of me and I wanted her to vacate my presence. If I could diffuse this right away, maybe she would.

My apology confused her because she was too drunk to understand it. Bella dropped her hand to her side for a minute and I was silently thanking God it had been that easy when she shook her head and poked me again.

"You're just saying that! You're such a jerk! You can't treat people like that!" She punctuated each of these exclamations with another sharp poke, and I could feel the panic welling up in me. She was yelling at me. Girl was fucking_ shouting._ All I could think of was how I needed to get out of the kitchen immediately or I was going to lose my shit. Jazz would definitely not appreciate me making this little drunk chick burst into tears while he was trying to get somewhere with her friend.

I went to edge around Bella, to just leave her there and go back up to my room, but she wasn't going to let me off that easily. She stepped to the side in a mirroring of my movement, effectively blocking my exit. God damn it. It was welling up in my now, raising my body temperature and making my head start to pound with all the concentration I was putting into holding it back. _Do not say anything, Edward. Do not say a fucking thing. Calm down. Leave._

And then she reached up and _slapped_ me, and I knew I was totally fucked.

I had two choices at that point: Fucking snap and ream this bitch so hard that she was a bawling puddle on the linoleum, or shut down completely. The first of those two wasn't an option, as much as I _really_ wanted it to be at that point. The rational part of me arguing that I deserved to get slapped after frightening Bella earlier was shrinking with each second that went by, and keeping a lock on myself was going to get more and more impossible if she didn't shut up soon.

So I closed my eyes and froze my body, carefully, tightly. All of the muscles in my body tensed, from my jaw down to my bare toes curling against the cold floor, and I let her fucking yell at me. This was just really fucking bad; I wasn't going to be able to maintain this façade for any length of time, and the longer she bitched me out the worse it would be when I let go of myself.

In my head there were the flashing images of past punishments and anger direct my way. I'd felt helpless, then, maybe, but I wasn't helpless now. Oh no. I could do something about this. If Bella didn't move for me I could fucking pick her up and throw her out of my way. I was not weak. I was _not weak. _Her yelling was these glass splinters driving into my brain, pushing me further and further and God it was just taking everything I had to keep my eyes closed and my fisted hands tight against my sides. _Don't do it Edward. You can't. This is something you cannot let get to you._

"I'm sorry," I repeated carefully, my words slow and toneless. I didn't open my eyes to look at her, not trusting myself to do it. "Please stop yelling."

She wasn't even paying attention to me anymore though. She just kept shouting and it felt like she was getting louder and louder. I didn't know if that was true or if that was just my senses amplifying it, the sounds reverberating in my skull like a long empty corridor. The adrenaline pounding through my bloodstream now was overtaking me, and I needed to focus on my breathing. _She's just drunk; she doesn't know what the hell she's saying. She'll get bored and leave you alone soon enough; you can wait her out._ No I couldn't. I really, really fucking could not. Where the fuck was Jazz? He needed to get his horny ass in here and stop me. He needed to get her away from me _immediately._

"You're an _asshole!_" was the next and last thing I clearly remembered her saying to me. At that my eyes snapped open and I stared down at her, my temper pushed over the edge and my emotion pushing out of me in loose hot waves. Not helpless. I didn't have to take this shit from her anymore, I was a grown man. I was not that weak little boy. Not now and never again. Now she'd done it. Now she'd–

There he was, heavy footsteps rushing into the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ, Bella, calm down!"

"Oh my God, Bella! What are you doing to him?" That was the other girl's voice. Alice. Bella, then. Not my mom, but Bella. Oh God, how had that even happened? What the fuck just _happened_? Where was I? _Oh shit. Oh fuck._

"I'm not doing anything to him!"

I blinked my eyes and let my body slide down the side of the counter onto the floor. Three pairs of legs in front of me. I wasn't going to raise my head and see The Look. I hugged my knees to my chest, bracing myself for any possible impact, and waited to see what would occur next. When nothing did I closed my eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Whatever shame I had felt before was nothing compared to what was slowly creeping up on me now, replacing my fury. My terror.

"I... think you guys better go." Jazz again.

"Is he okay?" Alice. I was supposed to say something... I had something to say to Alice. What was it? I chewed my cheek and tried to think.

"Just – Do you think you can drive yet Alice? Or do I need to drive you?"

"I don't think I can. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You guys go wait in the car okay?"

There was the jangling of keys, and then they were leaving the kitchen except for Jazz. I didn't say what I needed to say. Fuck, what was it? I opened my mouth to call out but it came as a hoarse whisper.

"Thank you for the sandwich."

The room was filled with silence as the legs stopped moving. Shit. I'd made a wrong move. I still wasn't thinking right and I'd said the wrong thing and now what? I didn't like the silence. Someone needed to fucking say something. I lowered my head into my arms. _Breathe, man. Just fucking breathe for a second and don't say another damn word._

"Th- thank you..."

It was the way she sounded all timid that brought me completely back to lucidity. Still confused, still scared without really knowing why, but totally lucid. Lucid, and fucking _ashamed._

Then they must have left, because the next thing I knew Jazz was kneeling on the floor next to me, his hand on my shoulder.

"It's cool man. We're cool. Just you and me now, alright?"

I lifted my head and eyed him warily. "How bad was that? One to ten?"

He considered for a moment. "Not too. A six maybe. No, like a five."

"Fuck."

Regardless of what Jazz said, a five was pretty fucking bad. It was no ten, that was for damn sure, but at the very _least_ odds were good that I had killed his chance at getting some out of the one he liked. The smiler. At least he didn't seem pissed.

"What happened? Like what did you say to her?"

I was too disoriented to be defensive. "Nothing. I didn't say a God damn thing. She... she slapped me... Fuck man I don't know. I don't know!"

"I know, it's cool. It's cool. Come on, let's go upstairs. I gotta drive them home, okay? But I'll be back in like half an hour, forty-five minutes."

I frowned. This was so shitty. I didn't even know what to do but I fucking felt like crying. Where the hell had that even come from? It just fucking crept up on me out of nowhere, and after I'd gone so long without having one even. I just didn't expect Bella to get so _pissed._ I don't know why I didn't see that coming. She'd fucking cursed at me the first time I saw her and I'd only egged her on more since then. Of course she'd get mad. Damn it.

Jazz said to go back upstairs, so that was what I did. I'd slept all damn day, though, and I wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep again any time soon. My body was too wired, too on edge with the last vestiges of adrenaline still circulating through me. Somewhere inside of me I was still freaked out by what had happened, so totally horrified by my own involuntary response that I didn't know what to do with myself.

I heard the car leave and it only reminded me that they would have to come back tomorrow to get the car. I didn't want that. I don't want to see either of those girls ever again. And I knew Jazz well enough to know that he wouldn't have them over again, not after my freaking out like that. _Freaking out._ That was an interesting way of putting it. How else would I describe it? _Well, she smelled like booze and she was screaming at you, and you thought she was your dead mother. _Freaking out was putting it fucking mildly.

I hated knowing I was defective in this weird fucking way. It didn't even happen every time, just sometimes. Just when I didn't fucking see it coming. So what was it about Bella? Why had she reminded me so much of my mother? Was it the same thing about her that made me so mad?

No, that's couldn't be it. I was never ever angry with my mother. That would have been a fatal mistake. No, it was the way I kept trying to apologize and she wouldn't let me. The way she had backed me into a corner. Sometimes a girl'd get drunk and pissed at me and she'd throw shit and scream and storm off expecting me to go after her or something, but almost always I apologized and she stopped. They stop or they leave but either way it's over. And if I'm not physically trapped I can leave, and then it's over that way too. Only rarely does it get like it did tonight. I barely even remembered exactly what all had transpired, only that Bella was so angry and that I wanted so badly for her to stop being angry.

So maybe Jazz would give some kind of vague, half-assed explanation on the way back to their place and apologize for me, and then he would tell them it was probably better if they didn't come around anymore. It was shitty but eventually I would push it back and not think about it anymore.

As I lay on my bed, my music turned up loudly again, I found myself thinking about Mrs. Clearwater of all people. Fucking perfect moms and their perfect pleasant kids and I liked her, I did. I didn't want to go back to her house anymore and I was going to have to make up some excuse to avoid her. I had no problem lying to Sam; it was just a matter of coming up with the right lie.

We're supposed to be able to deal with things but we all have some shit we just can't deal with. And when you know what those things are, you can learn to avoid them. It's cowardly, maybe, but it's self-preservation, and I was all about fucking self-preservation. I never should have had Jazz pull his truck over to help. Bella could have worked it out with her boyfriend or whatever the hell he was and then I would have been fine and probably nicely drunk right now instead of shaking on my bed and listening to the sound of the rain over my cheap stereo.

*************

**Well, what do you guys think? Good? Bad? I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	7. Chapter 7

**BPOV**

The next day I woke up with a bad headache and a matted nest of hair on my head, and blinked at my clock. 2pm? I couldn't possibly be reading that right. I _was_ reading that right. Oh, _crud_. Ugh. I looked down blearily and saw that I was still in my clothes from the night before. Odd; how had I gotten into bed without getting into my pajamas first? Come to think of it, how had I gotten into bed, period? The night before was one big hazy blur to me and I couldn't exactly recall what had happened.

Alice and I had gone out to return Edward's sweatshirt to him and the blond guy Jazz had invited us in to hang out. As if this were a totally normal social call, he's just up an invited us in to chill. He and Alice had hit it off and were bantering easily in the living room. But, wait. I vaguely remembered a car ride during which the two of them hadn't talked at all, all three of us silent and unhappy. What had affected the mood so drastically?

_Oh, right_.

The rest of the afternoon and evening came back to me then, in a rapid succession of scenes from a flip book that wasn't quite in the right order. I'd gotten bored watching Jazz and Alice flirt and tried to make amends with his friend Edward, who for some mysterious reason had been horrified upon discovering our presence in his house. He'd taken off like a bat out of hell up the stairs when he first saw Alice and I, which was weird enough on its own, but then when he'd come back down he'd avoided us altogether.

I figured, hey, Jazz was a nice enough guy. Maybe Edward wasn't as big a jerk as he'd come across both times I'd run into him previously. Anyway I had his sweatshirt, so I might as well give it to him.

More like Edward gave it to me, so to speak, in that he'd really _given_ it to me, inexplicably furious and lashing out at me when I attempted to hand over the garment. He was an absolute bastard on the porch and in the kitchen, which he stormed out of after scaring the crap out of me. Really _frightened_ me, leaving my lower lip quaking and tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. I was not a crybaby, but I'd also never been spoken to like that in my entire life. Not even by Lauren Skanky Mallory.

_Fuck you. Fuck. You. _It hadn't been so much his words as the way he'd said them. He'd bitten them out with real threat behind them, and I'd felt like I was in real danger for that brief instant before he walked away and left me there.

People say "fuck you" to each other all the time when they're angry and they don't mean it beyond an expression of that anger. Edward... sounded like he completely meant it. Why, though?

After Edward stormed out of the kitchen Alice came in to say that we were going out to get lunch with Jazz. Not asked. Said. Half an hour of talking and they were already rib-joined. I wasn't surprised Jazz felt that way considering this was Alice we were talking about, but usually she made a guy put in a lot more effort for her attention. Maybe it was the bad boy mystique that he had going for him. Maybe it was the fantastic Abercrombie build. Either way, so far he was a very nice guy. He just had very poor judgment in house mates.

I blubbered stupidly to Alice about Edward and Jazz sighed before heading upstairs to soothe things over with his asshole friend. From the kitchen we couldn't hear what was said but whatever it was Jazz came back down acting as if nothing had happened. As we left together in Alice's car, Jazz commenting on how nice it was and running his hand along the dashboard as though he'd never been in a decent sedan before, I tried to pretend nothing had happened too.

Lunch turned into hanging out in Port Angeles all afternoon, walking around by the waterfront and window-shopping, and eventually we came back to our house to watch a movie. Jazz no doubt would have preferred something more along the lines of Fight Club or Die Hard, he was perfectly content to watch Alice's pick of Sixteen Candles. Hell, even _I_ thought that movie was too sappy. Jazz shocked Alice and I both by stating he had never heard of it until now. Lik who hasn't heard of Sixteen Candles?

Alice made us sandwiches for an early dinner around five, and at Jazz's extraordinarily polite request she'd made an extra one for him to take back to Edward. What, the guy couldn't feel himself? He had two hands, didn't he? The man could make his own damn sandwich at his own damn house, a place I never intended to visit again. Alice swore she didn't mind in the least.

After eating we'd gone out to one of the bars favored by the college crowd, and it was once I had a few vodka tonics in me that I'd started complaining about Edward aloud instead of just in my head.

"I don't see where your friend gets off being such an asshole all the time," I grumbled to Jazz, who had his arm loosely slung around Alice's shoulder and had, until I'd spoken up anyway, looked just as happy as could be. "I didn't do anything to him."

"Bella..." Alice began, her tone full of warning. She didn't want me insulting Jazz's friend and ruining her unlikely romantic connection. As if Alice ever had trouble finding a guy when she wanted one. Sure Jazz was attractive, but so was what's-his-name that she'd been flirting with at the party. Ben? So I ignored her and kept going. After all, I had valid grievances didn't I? Sure I did!

"I mean I really went out of my way and I was never anything but nice and he was totally _mean_! What is that? Didn't his mother ever teach him any manners?"

Jazz winced at my question then shook his head.

"Bella, I would just let it go," he told me earnestly. "Edward's not a people person, okay? Don't take it personally."

But I _did_ take it personally. To be perfectly honest I wasn't used to people acting that way toward me and I was offended by it. The fact that I'd done nothing to deserve it only served to heighten my upset. It was one thing for Edward to go picking fights with other grown men in seedy bars or whatever it was he did for fun, but I was an unfair target.

Alice changed the subject before I could elaborate on why I was so irritated, but I kept ruminating silently the way I had been off and on for the entire day. Where had it gone wrong? _It didn't go wrong, he's just a prick._

What was worse was the fact that I found Edward stupidly attractive, more so with this latest encounter than with either of the previous two. The lighting helped, as did the non-penal setting. It was to the extent that when I'd been talking to him on the porch I'd been flustered remembering what his muscles looked like under his shirt. His hair was so perfectly tousled and his jaw so set and determined; his skin flawless and his eyes that beautiful shade of green when he stared at me. _He_ was beautiful. How often did I meet guys that sexy? Answer: not very.

So why did he have to go and be such a complete jerk and ruin it?

I was mad at Edward and I was mad at myself for being attracted to him and it only caused my anger to build further until, something like four vodka tonics in, I decided I knew him well enough to hate him. Screw him, screw his green eyes, and screw his sweatshirt.

With that firm mental pronouncement I resolved to push Edward out of my mind and enjoy the rest of my evening. I was out being social and having a fun time doing it. For a young, single, not hideously deformed college coed, I didn't do this nearly often enough.

Hanging out with Jazz at the bar, it was easy to forget that Alice and I had technically first met him in jail. He was easy-going, friendly, and super interested in everything we had to say. He also liked to talk, and was willing to entertain Alice's and my endless questions about him and Edward and how they came to be in our tiny neck of the woods.

They'd moved here from Chicago solely for the house, which I guess Jazz inherited, but he wasn't from there originally either. His family hailed from Texas and he'd been born and raised in Amarillo. With a certain amount of pride Jazz informed us that he was a direct descent of Major Nathanial Ambrose Whitlock Jr., who had fought in the one and only Revolutionary War, and that his full name was Jasper Talley Whitlock IV. Really. Talley. In context it was obvious why he went by Jazz.

"I like Jasper," Alice asserted ingenuously. "Like the precious gemstone, right?"

At this Jazz's face lit up and I could see just how into Alice he was, which was a whole heck of a lot. Enough to sit through Sixteen Candles when there could be no way he'd honestly enjoyed that film. They beamed at each other and I became more and more of a third wheel with each passing moment.

"So how did you end up in Chicago?" I asked Jazz then, wanting to keep the flow of conversation going before I had to watch them making full on goo-goo eyes at each other. Alice's goo-goo eyes were nearly as difficult to stomach as Rose's and that was definitely saying something.

Jazz shrugged and said that he'd left home at sixteen and never looked back. Just like that, one day he's walked out the door. I tried to imagine cutting off all ties with my current life and starting all over somewhere new, but there was no way I could do ever do something like that. Not even now, with my dad gone. When I asked Jazz why he had, he shrugged again.

"They weren't going to miss me," he said, not elaborating on how that could be the case. "Anyway the only real contact I've even kind of had with my family was when my grandparents left me like a trust, and when the lawyer called and said I'd inherited this house."

"Sounds like an adventure," Alice giggled.

It _was_ adventurous, compared to anything she or I had done. I hadn't even moved out of the county to go to college, and it sounded as if Jazz and Edward had just decided to pack up and move halfway across the country on a lark. It was something out of a movie, the kind of thing people didn't do in real life. Part of me was envious of their freedom. Another part of me sullenly theorized that Edward was probably running from legal trouble when he made the decision to leave.

"So what about Edward? Is he from Chicago? Where's his family?"

I mentally kicked myself for being so curious, but I couldn't help it. It was hard to imagine someone like Edward having a family; he didn't look like someone who had ever been a child. If anything, he was that one bad egg cousin that nobody talks about at Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Would his family miss him now? They probably didn't care where he had moved to, as long as he wasn't bothering them. I had a second cousin Alex like that. No one ever mentioned Alex. Did Edward's family ever mention him to each other?

Jazz hesitated and his eyes met mine. I was startled by the intensity of his expression in those few seconds before he turned his attention back to his beer.

After a pause he simply stated, "He's from Chicago."

_Well okay then. Sore subject, eh?_

"What's Chicago like?" Alice asked Jazz, artfully steering the conversation away from Edward though she had to be curious too. "Isn't it pretty huge?"

Jazz went on to tell us all about his favorite parts of "The City," from listing the restaurants and parks he and Edward liked to frequent to describing without shame the deplorable living conditions of his and Edward's last apartment before they'd moved. The roof leaked and half the outlets didn't work, nor did the smoke detectors or the oven and stove. There'd been only one bedroom which Edward slept in on a mattress directly on the floor, and Jasper took the sofa in the "living room." Both the mattress and the sofa had been courtesy of neighbors who'd left them on the sidewalk. I was fascinated; Alice looked horrified.

"But how do you live the way you do now?" she asked bluntly, both of us picturing the reasonably nice house at the end of the private drive outside town. It might have been a rude question but Jazz didn't take it that way.

"The furniture came with the house," he explained. "Like two beds and the fridge and there's even this piano upstairs and everything. We have no idea how it got up there but it's too huge for us to get downstairs to sell."

"Well you're a lot tidier than Emmett anyway," Alice told him, smiling. Heaven knew that was true. While it had indeed been sparse, Jazz and Edward's house had been clean. Emmett was constantly leaving his dirty dishes and clothes all over our place, and I didn't want to picture what his own place looked like. The very thought of five Emmett-type jocks sharing a place made me shudder – no surprise Rose refused to so much as shower over there.

"Oh that's all Edward. He's really anal about- wait, who's Emmett?" Jazz looked from Alice to me and back, his brow furrowed.

"Our house mate's boyfriend," Alice answered quickly, wanting to make sure Jazz didn't get the wrong idea about her availability. Again I was struck by how easy she was making this pursuit. The Alice I thought I knew would have remained deliberately vague about Emmett's role in her life, if not to raise Jazz's jealousy then to at least have a bit of fun toying with him. She had to see how interested he was, after all. Upon learning Emmett was not a threat, Jazz relaxed visibly and nodded.

"That's right, there's three of you, huh? You all live together? Hey, that's cool. Do you guys have like slumber parties and pillow fights and whatever?"

I gaped at him for a second before realizing that he wasn't being insinuative. He was genuinely asking, really thinking that might be what three girls who lived together did. I laughed, unable not to, and Alice laughed too. Jazz grinned, not caring that he didn't get what was funny, and excused himself to get us another round of drinks.

He was a nice guy; I liked him. Alice did too, obviously, and the second he was out of earshot she conspiratorially whispering to me about all the cute mannerisms he had and nearly every single thing he'd said over the course of the afternoon and evening as if _I had not also been right there_. She confessed she'd given him her cell phone number while I was in the restroom and I smirked.

"You're doing this in the wrong order," I told her, giggling. "You're supposed to give the guy your number and _then_ invite him back to your place."

Alice play-shoved me and we both teetered in our seats from the action. Okay, maybe just a wee bit drunk. You know, at 8pm. That wasn't too early, was it? After all, we weren't the only people in here by a long shot. There was a whole crowd of college students milling about drinking and bitching about their professors.

One of them, a total bro type with an honest-to-goodness pink polo shirt on, was currently addressing Jazz at the bar, and he did not appear happy. Alice followed my gaze to see where I was looking, and both of us watched with rapt interest as the guy got right up in Jazz's face and said something. Jazz didn't flinch but slid his eyes toward us, and I wondered what the heck was going on. Had Jazz knocked his pool cue and messed up his shot or something? That wasn't worth trying to start something, was it?

Next thing we knew one of the bartenders had come out from behind the bar and was also standing in front of Jazz, and that's when Alice got to her feet to go find out what was happening.

"Alice!" I hissed after her, also standing up, but she ignored me as she marched straight up to the bar. I sighed and followed.

"...not to come back," the bartender was telling Jazz seriously. Jazz saw Alice and I over the man's shoulder and his eyes sank closed. He took a _very_ deep breath and opened them again.

"Yeah man, sure," he agreed amiably, setting down the drinks he was holding. "I don't want to start shit. Let me just close my tab?"

"Oh, yeah, _now_ you don't want to start shit," Polo Shirt sneered. "Not so tough without your buddy?"

Ah, okay. This was an uncomfortable situation. Jazz turned his back on Polo Shirt without answering and addressed Alice and me.

"I'll be right out?" he asked.

Alice opened her mouth to say something, but I grabbed her arm and quickly steered her away from the bar. It wasn't easy, considering we were both tripping over our feet with each step, but I got us out the front door and onto the sidewalk without either of us taking a header. Pretty good, considering. Maybe I could teach classes in drunk walking. Unlike the vast majority of classes I'd taken thus far at college, that one would at least have practical life application.

A few minutes later Jazz joined and gave us an easy grin that I saw right through. No big deal, just get thrown out of a bar or risk starting a fight, right? Which was what reminded me.

"So is this the bar you and Edward had your little dust up in?" I asked Jazz knowingly, because that was the only logical explanation for what had just transpired back inside.

"No, actually, that was- uhm... yeah. Yeah sorry it didn't even... uh, oops?" He smiled sheepishly again as if to say _My bad_.

Alice giggled and hooked her arm in Jazz's for the walk back to the car. She was in no fit state to drive, nor was I, so Jazz accepted her car keys and we all climbed in. Jazz offered to drop us off and simply hitchhike back to his place.

"That's illegal and dangerous," Alice pointed out, struggling with the word "dangerous" in her inebriated state.

"Oh..." Jazz seemed just as surprised by her reaction to his hitchhiking as we had been at him suggesting it in the first place. Like it genuinely had not occurred to him. I was beginning to sense that there was a huge lifestyle gap between us and this man who hitchhiked and was unfamiliar with the film Sixteen Candles or what college girls did with their Friday nights.

"Do you hitchhike often?" I wanted to know, unable to contain my curiosity.

"Do you think that's bad?" Jazz countered, equally curious.

I considered. "Not bad, but..." But what? "But not good either."

Jazz didn't miss a beat.

"Then no," he told me, grinning in the rearview mirror. What a little liar.

It wasn't a very long drive, and a short while later we pulled up to Jazz and Edward's house. Jazz actually jogged around the car to open Alice's door, eliciting another giggle from her. I rolled my eyes. The house was dark except for the kitchen when we entered, and Jazz escorted Alice and me into the living room before excusing himself and going upstairs. I folded my arms over my chest, unhappy to be back in the place of my earlier upset despite the fact that Edward was nowhere to be found.

Really, I'd been okay with Jazz just dropping us off at our place and our coming back here for the car later. Unfortunately it wasn't my car, it was Alice's, and I suspected that she and Jazz wanted the excuse to spend more time together. Eight hours of hanging out and they weren't tired of each other yet. That very nearly beat my record for being with Mike before irritation with him set in, and that included the time we spent sleeping.

I was still pissed off with Edward and hoped that his solitary brooding would continue to prevent him from being in the same part of the house as us. He could hide in his room until Alice and I left, and then I would somehow be able to avoid him up until we were both inevitably in Alice and Jazz's wedding party five years down the line.

Yeah, that was my plan. Yeah, I was drunk.

"Gonna use the bathroom," I informed Alice, stumbling across the living room. Alice laughed at me and I turned to stick my tongue out at her. What, like she would be able to do any better? I'd have liked to see her try. Actually, no I wouldn't have. She'd undoubtedly trip and then Jasper Talley Whitlock IV would magically be there to swoop in and break her fall and the two of them would live happily ever after. Embarrassing, stupid things don't happen to cute, perfect girls like Alice. They just don't.

I ran some cold water in the sink and splashed it over my face, hoping to sober up a little. The sooner one of us was okay to drive, the sooner I could insist on leaving. After all, I'd be damned if we were going to be here long enough for Alice and Jazz to start fooling around, leaving me stuck on a sofa for the rest of the night.

Mmm, sofa... Maybe I could just go relax on it and close my eyes for a little while...

I snapped myself out of my reverie and dried my hands before I exited the bathroom. Naturally, in the few minutes it had taken me Alice had managed to disappear. Groaning in frustration I headed back to the foyer to check stairs. God, I hoped they weren't, like, making out on Jazz's bed or something. Or worse. That would be really awkward to walk in on. At the same time, Alice couldn't leave me alone down here. What if I ran into-

_Edward_.

He was standing in the kitchen with his back to me, facing the sink. Either he hadn't heard me behind him or else he was intentionally ignoring me. It was probably the former but in my drunkenly flaring indignation I assumed it was the latter. I stalked into the kitchen with my fists balled at my sides.

That was when things had gotten... strange. Not only like weird, but _bizarre._ Because when I started yelling at Edward, trying to tell him to his beautiful face what a jerk I thought he was, he'd actually looked... scared?

I thought I had to have misread that emotion, since Edward being afraid of someone like me was laughable. Maybe he was trying to shut me up, apologizing immediately the way he did, but I wasn't going to let that happen; not until I'd finished giving him a piece of my mind. Oh and I had. I'd let it all out, going on a furious tirade that would have put Christian Bale to shame. I'd even cursed. In fact, I think I might have slapped him. Jeez. When had I, Bella Swan, picked up this new habit for slapping guys? That was two now, both within the span of less than 24 hours. My dad would be mortified.

I groaned now as I sat up in my bed and pushed the covers off of my still-jean-clan body, cringing both from my pounding headache and from my recollections of the way Edward's face had changed while I was berating him last night. The more he'd tried to apologize the more pissed off I'd gotten, like I couldn't believe he would condescend to me in that way. If he really thought he could be so mean and then placate me by saying "sorry," he had another thing coming. I'd been proud of myself, too, taking a page from the Rosalie Hale book of Never Taking Someone's Shit.

It retrospect it'd been very dumb of me, since however friendly Jazz was his house mate was still a felon. An ex-con. A graduate of Crossbar University. And he and I were alone in that kitchen, and God only knew what he could have done to little old drunk stupid me.

But then all of a sudden Edward had closed his eyes and I'd gotten a good look at his face. And he _was_ scared. Edward Cullen, a grown man convicted of assault and God only knew what else, was _frightened_ of me. Hours ago he'd scared the crap out of me, and now I was scaring the crap out of him.

His eyes were squeezed shut tightly and his whole body was crouching downward defensively so that we were eye level, though he had to have at least half a foot on me. His fear made _me _afraid, more than shocked which I also was, and I was frozen by it.

When Edward opened his eyes wide he stared back at me in terror, and my mind was blown.

Sooner than I could properly react, Jazz and Alice were there in the kitchen with me and Jazz was pulling me away from Edward by my good wrist. I let him, too astonished not to, and Edward crumpled to the ground right before us.

Alice cried out, "What are you doing to him?" and that question rang in my head as I gaped at the dangerous man huddled on the floor against the cabinets.

What _had _I done? It was such a surreal moment for me that I only barely heard Alice and Jazz talking, my eyes glued on Edward. He still wasn't looking up at us, at me. All I wanted to do was kneel beside him and comfort him, to apologize and make it right however absurd that impulse might have been. When I took a step forward I was stopped by Jazz's hand on my shoulder. I looked back at him and he shook his head wordlessly, his expression grave.

Major badness had just gone down, and the mood had shifted to something dark and eerie out of nowhere.

When Edward finally spoke, it was to thank Alice for the sandwich. Seriously.

"Thank you for the sandwich," he'd mumbled to his knees, barely loud enough for us to hear him.

Alice was just as stunned as I was, stammering out another "thank you" back at him instead of a "you're welcome." We practically flew out of the house after that, leaving Jazz to deal with Edward alone before I could make things even worse than I apparently already had.

Alice and I got into her car to wait for Jazz and then, only then, did I properly react to what had just occurred.

"Oh my God, Alice," I'd whispered. "Oh my God."

She twisted her body in the front seat to take my hand and we looked intently at each other, neither of us knowing what more could be said. We were too dumbfounded.

We'd remained in that position until Jazz joined us, and then the three of us rode in silence back to the house and he dropped us off. It was awful, this hollow shell compared to our earlier lively conversation that hadn't even been diminished by Jazz's encounter with the bartender. I wanted to ask what was wrong with Edward, if he was okay, but I didn't know how to put it into words or how Jazz would take my question.

Once home I'd kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed fully clothed and curled up with my stuffed rabbit, too drunk and confused to care about the little things like brushing my teeth or taking off my bra. The mental image of Edward's terrified face and crumbled body burned into my mind as I fell asleep.

So here I was, groggy and hungover in the cheery daylight aftermath but no less mystified than I had been last night. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood to go find Alice. When I got to her room she was sitting at her bureau, putting the final touches on what already seemed to be totally flawless makeup. Taking in her immaculate appearance when I myself felt so gross was intolerable.

"Ugh, where are you going at this hour?" I grumbled, dropping onto her bed to watch. Alice turned to me and I could see the hesitation on her face before she answered me.

"At this hour? Bella, it's the afternoon. And Jazz is coming to pick me up so I can get my car back. I need it to meet with my presentation group for tonight."

"Oh, good!" I said eagerly, immediately more awake. "That will give me a chance to apologize to Edward."

I felt really bad for... whatever had happened. I was also insanely curious. I had the need to see him again as soon as possible, to solve the mystery and make things right with him before they could get any worse than they already were. Alice was frowning though, and she scrunched her face apologetically as she listened to me speak.

"Actually, Jazz specifically requested that you not come along, Bella," she informed me regretfully. "He thought it would be better that way... given the circumstances..."

_Given the circumstances. _Her words stung, and I knew my expression betrayed my disappointment. I didn't even understand what I had done wrong! This wasn't _fair._ If I screwed up, and I didn't think I had but still, I should be allowed the opportunity to make it right, shouldn't I? Wasn't that how it worked?

"So what, does he hate me now?" I asked Alice glumly, wondering why it was fair that Edward was allowed to hate me. Shouldn't I hate _him_? _Hadn't_ I hated him less than a full day ago? What had changed? Why was I so riddled with guilt now, and why had Edward had such a thoroughly bizarre reaction to the admittedly ridiculous drunk ramblings of a girl whose feelings he'd hurt?

"I don't know, Bella. I just know that Jazz doesn't want you coming to the house. I'm really sorry."

I was pouting as I trooped back to my room to grab my things and shower. Where was the solidarity here? Alice was supposed to be _my_ best friend. The logical fact that she had to get her car back one way or another, and that it would be easier if she got along with Jazz while doing it, did nothing to ease my offense.

The fact was that none of this made any sense to me whatsoever. The fact was that Edward Cullen himself was baffling, abnormal, and above all, the most fascinating person I'd ever met. The fact was I couldn't allow him to hate me.

I would get to the bottom of this and I would win him over if it was the last thing I did.

*************

**As always, thank you all so much for reading. Your reviews have really been making me feel good. **

**Special shout-out to The Gazebo - you girls are awesome, and thank you for sharing this story! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**EPOV**

I couldn't explain why, but the entire week dragged more than they usually do. That was for sure saying something, seeing as it wasn't like Jazz and I had jack shit to any other time. He and I got so restless we went so far as to wander around the house and property, pointing out various shit that should be fixed or gotten rid of or whatever. This was absurd. Neither of us had any plans to stay in this pocket of the Pacific Northwest long term, and I think we were both figuring that when we got sick of the house we could sell it for pure profit. While it was no mansion, it would still net Jazz more cash than either of us had ever seen in our short shitty lives.

Something was bothering me, gnawing at the back of my brain the way it is when you're trying to think of a word and you fucking can't. This sense of, I don't know, having missed a crucial point. It made it tough to sit still. The more I tried to figure it out and couldn't the more it frustrated the absolute hell out of me.

Jasper, though, it was easy to see what he had on his mind. The smiler. My sandwich maker. Alice. He wanted that piece something fierce and for Christ knows what reason I thought he actually had a half-decent chance with her. He was punching above his weight class, no doubt about it, but the girl seemed interested.

Monday afternoon he'd bounced out of the house whistling all cheerful and shit to pick her up and return her car. I'd planned to just hide out back if they came back in case he wanted to go for something, but she didn't stick around. Because of me, she just picked up her car and asked Jazz to call her some time and off she went. Well fuck.

That was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? Yeah, it had been. _Nice little adventure, girlies, and no thank you for your time._ Only Jazz was stuck on her, getting all distracted fiddling with his car keys and staring at the wall, and it was starting to drag on me. After only so long I couldn't take that shit anymore and I told him, look, do what you need to do. I just didn't want to see her and I _especially_ didn't want to see her friend. I was still getting over my freak out and if either one of them so much as gave me the weird look I knew they would give me I would flip my shit for real.

Jazz brushed it off like _nah man, no big thing_, grinning and punching me in the shoulder. I let it go and he let it go. So why did the house feel so fucking empty and on edge?

By the time Saturday rolled around we were both actively looking forward to that shit. Sam'd said that we didn't really need to be there so early, since he'd pegged for a couple of lazy assholes right from the start, but fuck I wanted out of the house. Any excuse to do something, to feel productive. We rolled up to Sam's just after 11am, stubbly and slightly hung over but ready to go. Shit, we'd even brought our own beer as a contribution.

The Uley house didn't have a driveway; more like a large that served as both driveway and front yard. Jazz left the truck there and we went to the porch to ring the doorbell. No answer.

"What'ya think?" Jazz asked me, scratching the back of his head.

"Fuck, I dunno man."

This place wasn't that big, and he was expecting us. Dude had to be around here somewhere. Jazz and I turned around on the porch, surveying the surrounding houses and whatever. There was a half-collapsed shed across the road, two little black-haired kids playing with a three-legged dog. No other people that we could tell.

"Jake's," Jazz finally decided.

I agreed and we hopped back off the porch, walking up the road to where we remembered Jake's place being. This proved to be a safe bet, as sure enough the kid was in his garage hard at work with the radio blaring. We entered the garage as loudly as we could to avoid catching him off guard, and Jake lifted his head from the hood of the car with a grin.

"Eddie. Jazz Hands. 'Sup? You looking for Sam?" He twirled the wrench expertly in his hand as he spoke, showing off.

I nodded. "Yeah, you seen him around?"

Jake tossed the wrench in the arm, reach his hand behind his back and catching it easily. He flashed a smug smile at Jazz and I, and I knew he'd spent time practicing that one. Cocky kid. I liked Jake a lot.

"Yeah, he's up at the house with dad and some other guys. You can chill out here with me – I'm just getting ready to take this front bumper off."

This was a task easily better suited to Jasper and one that didn't look as if took more than one person anyway, but I stuck around because it was better than the Clearwater's. Sam had said something about clearing out Mrs. Clearwater's rain gutters last week and f I'd gone over there I could have been doing that instead. But no. I was still looking for a way to avoid that place without looking like a prick, which is exactly what I was.

Anyway as it turned out I was only buying myself time, because after about an hour and a half of hanging out in the garage Sam came in along with one of the other guys we'd met last week. I tried to remember his name when he greeted Jazz and I by ours. Paul? Paul, I think. And the very first thing out of Sam's mouth?

"Ah, Edward. Cool. I told Sue you'd be over today to take a look at a leak in her roof."

Fuck.

"Yeah man I'll head over." I dropped the unknown tool I'd been idly toying with and told Jazz I'd catch up with him later before shuffling out of the garage like a dead man walking.

_It's on the roof_, I tried to rationalize to myself during the short trip to the Clearwater house. _It's not like anyone else is gonna be up there._

Just like last time, Mrs. Clearwater and her daughter were in the kitchen when I showed up. The absolute cutest God damn domestic thing they could possibly be doing. Not even just regular cooking, oh no, it had to be baking, with fucking aprons on and everything. Mrs. Clearwater pointed out to me where in the house the leak was coming through and I told her I'd take a look. As quick as I could I made my escape.

I grabbed the ladder out of the garage and climbed up onto the roof. More than likely some of the asphalt shingles had come loose. The house didn't have an attic, so any rainwater would've leaked right down though that weird popcorn texture ceiling plaster. Simplest solution: hammer something else down over the gap. More asphalt shingle, if I could find it in the garage.

Only once I got up there I realized we weren't talking one isolated spot that needed patching. The roof was fucking _riddled_ with holes, and while I didn't need to fix them now they'd just start leaking too somewhere on down the line. Well God damn it. I ran my fingers through my hair as I surveyed the situation, silently cursing the venerable deceased Mr. Clearwater for not taking care of this on his own before he bumped off.

I only had one more week of this gig and then it wasn't my problem anymore. By the time the house leaked somewhere else, I'd be long gone and someone else could deal with it. Some other asshole stupid enough to get picked up by the cops on a Friday night. This was what I told myself, but at the same time I was already mentally tallying up the number of bare spots and estimating how much asphalt shingle I'd need. Yeah, okay. I'd wanted to feel productive? _Shit man, here we go._

There was a decent amount of asphalt shingle buried in the garage which I found only after digging through everything and getting about ten million splinters. It led me to believe that Mr. Clearwater had been aware of the problem and at one point went so far as to go out and buy the shit he'd need to fix it before getting distracted or dying or whatever. I also found short roofing nails and a rusty hammer that was more than likely going to give me tetanus before this was all over.

I had my work cut out for me, and I was just getting started when the daughter Leah poked her head over the edge of the roof and startled the shit out of me.

"Excuse me?" she asked timidly, out of fucking nowhere. I hadn't even heard her climbing the ladder.

"Jesus fuck!"

I dropped the hammer and spun around to where she was standing on the top of the ladder to peer over the rain gutter at me. Her eyes widened as she backed down the ladder a step, and instantly I felt bad.

"Fuck, sorry." _Yeah Edward, curse more, I really think that's helping._ "Uh, sorry."

"It's okay," she told me in this tiny voice, looking down at the gutter in front of her awkwardly.

"Did you, uh, did you need something?" Now that my heart was slowing back down the awkwardness was creeping up on me too. I'd _really_ been hoping to avoid this kind of thing.

"Mom wants to know if you were hungry or thirsty or anything..." she trailed off nervously.

Of course Mom did. Mom was probably fully prepared to send up a root beer and a PBJ with the crusts cut off, because that was the kind of intolerably nice lady Mom was.

"I'm good," I told the girl, Leah, knowing this was the quickest way to get her out of my sight. She rolled her lips in and disappeared from view once more.

I sat back on the slant of the roof, resting my forearms on my knees as I rubbed my temples. Fuck, this reroofing stuff was going to take up the rest of the day, easily, plus the entire next Saturday as well. I was stuck here with the Clearwaters and if they kept being nice to me I was going to want to fucking bash my head in with that rusted hammer.

The rational side of me knew that was stupid. It was rolling its eyes at the fact that I was sitting here legitimate wishing that Mrs. Clearwater and her daughter could maintain a polite indifference toward me and toward each other in my presence. Hell, that wasn't just selfish, that was outright fucked up. Like who has those kinds of thoughts, those kinds of wishes? Not normal, healthy, well-adjusted people, that was for sure. Then again, if I were well-adjusted I wouldn't have a rap sheet long enough to paper a room with.

_Okay Edward, suck it up. The longer you sit here feeling sorry for yourself, the longer this is going to take. Get back to work._

I returned to my hammering with more vigor than before, now feeling guilty for my bad thoughts plus irritation because, yeah, I was starting to get hungry. Why had I felt compelled to take all this on?

Man, why couldn't I have known anything about car repair?

Two hours later my shoulders were stiff and I was gritty with sweat and dirt the wind had blown on me, not to mention tar smudges all over my hands and clothes. I felt disgusting. And forget food – I was _thirsty. _I dropped the hammer again in frustration and swung down the ladder, my goal simple: find the hose, get some water, get back to work. Yeah, like a dog. Exactly like that. It was coiled up on the side of the house and I ran it over my head and back just for good measure, just because even with the clouds in the sky I knew I was going to have one hell of a sunburn after today.

I was trooping back around the corner to the ladder when I was intercepted by Mrs. Clearwater bearing a small plate of brownies.

"There you are. I- good Lord in Heaven, Edward, what _have_ you been doing?"

I stared at her, caught animal, my mind working to come up with an appropriate response but only able to come up with "Fuck."

"Your roof," I said dumbly, gesturing vaguely above our heads at the house.

"My roof?" Mrs. Clearwater wrinkled her forehead and actually looked up, as if she'd be able to see what I was talking about from down here. I took a breath.

"Yeah, uh, your roof is f- there's a lot of places that need patching. You had shingles in your garage so..." I finished with a shrug, shifting on my feet in preparation to edge around her and make for the ladder and climb to safety.

"Oh, I see. I didn't realize it was so bad. Do I need to call someone?" She pursed her lips and rolled them together the exact same way her daughter had done when I turned down lunch, and I saw the strong family resemblance.

"No it's cool, I got it. I should get back to it though..." I was edging now, all cagey and up on the balls of my feet, hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans. I looked sketch as hell and I knew it.

"Well why don't you sit down for a moment? I brought you some brownies. Leah said you were hungry but that was a while ago. They've just finished cooling."

Ugh motherfuck me. _Please just get the hell away from me okay? No offense. _

"...Thanks."

I stuck out a grubby hand to accept the plate, cringing at the way I left dark smears on the cheerfully painted ceramic. Mrs. Clearwater beamed at me as I made a token effort at picking at the brownie. That was the protocol, right? Take a bite, tell her how good it was? That's how it looks on television. Never in my entire life had anyone presented me with a fresh baked good.

"Thanks," I said again, unable to smile. Mrs. Clearwater did though.

"You can just leave the plate in the sink when you're done," she let me know. "Leah and I have to run some errands so we'll be going out. And Edward?"

"Yeah?" I lifted my head, squinting from what had to be dust in my eye when I tried to look at her.

"Thank you so much for all your help. That's very sweet of you."

She stepped forward then and patted me on my filthy, sweaty, hose-wet back while still smiling, and I felt obscenely low. Once she was out of sight it took several deep breaths before I was able to get a lock on it. And once I had, just because I was hungry and they smelled so good, I ate Mrs. Clearwater's brownies with ungodly speed.

I heard their car leaving and mentally counted to fifteen then returned to the back patio. I didn't want to track dirt all over the undoubtedly spotless kitchen so I kicked off my shoes and put my hand through my t-shirt to open the slider. The house was nice and quiet, the smell of brownie permeating the air, and I saw the plate of them resting on the counter. Would anyone care if I'd had another on? I mean I'd been too hung over for breakfast and too dysfunctional to say yes to lunch.

Mrs. Clearwater was so trusting, leaving her house unlocked when she had a fucking criminal alone on her property. What the hell was she thinking? I'd busted into places not half this nice before, and she was practically gift-wrapping her shit and leaving it out for me. And not just me – anyone could walk in here to take whatever the fuck they wanted.

That bothered me. I didn't like that. Not like people would bother coming all the way out here to La Push to steal shit but that they could. I could right now if I wanted, and it hadn't even occurred to Mrs. Clearwater when she was being all sweet and giving me brownies on a fucking ceramic plate.

It wasn't right. Mrs. Clearwater didn't know what I was, how I did. Not like I was this big time bad ass but like I was this no good bastard and yeah. I did shit. I'd done kind of a lot of shit in my time and even though it was all minor stuff it still wasn't the kind of shit good people did. And here she was thinking I was "sweet". So what? What if she knew? She wouldn't be sending her teenage daughter up on the roof alone to check on me, that was for damn sure. She wouldn't be leaving her God damn door unlocked.

I set the plate gently in the sink as directed and went over to the slider to flick the lock. Once I had I went back out the front door and made sure that was locked too.

It was three more hours before I gave up on the roof for the day, and only then because Sam was yelling my name from the lawn. I peered down at him and he said I could knock it off for the day. I wasn't happy with how little progress it seemed like I'd made, but I was exhausted and starving so I figured I might as well rein it in. I carried the unused roof nails and asphalt shingles down the ladder and left them in the garage where they'd be easy to access. Then I closed and locked that door and walked with Sam back to Jake's place.

"Sue came by the Black house on her way out, said you were like a dream come true," Sam told me, grinning and rolling his eyes in amusement. "Fair warning, she's going to try to pay you or something."

"Shit," I muttered, running my fingers though my hair. By that point it was filthy and still damp from sweat and hose water, so it wasn't like it mattered. Sam laughed.

"You look disgusting," he said cheerfully. "You wanna borrow some clothes or something? We're going over to the Call's in a bit to barbeque."

Any other time that would have been a very tempting offer, but just now I was in no kind of mood. I shrugged Sam off and muttered something like "doesn't matter," and soon we were at Jake's garage. Jake and Jasper were standing there talking to someone perched on the close hood of the truck, and I rubbed my eyes to get a better look. Jazz turned around at the sound of our approach, his movement revealing the third figure more fully, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

Bella. Fucking _Bella._

I could not fucking believe it.

Jazz gave me a knowing look while Jake grinned and Bella toyed with her hands nervously in her lap. I stared back at Jazz, making sure he could see in my expression exactly how I felt about this. Bella hopped off the hood and stepped toward me.

Bella was such a cute little thing, those doe eyes all wide and innocent. I liked her skin too, how it was perfect and porcelain. In a weird way that I knew full well was creepy, I was jealous of her skin. She almost looked delicate, but she wasn't frail. She was trouble, was what she was.

"Hi Edward," she greeted me, all hesitant, forcing this smile.

What did she think I was going to do? Scratch that; I didn't want to know. She was looking at me funny, though, in a way I couldn't decipher, and it set me on edge. Not like I was interesting and not like she was afraid of me. Not like she was pissed or like she was hurt. I hadn't seen this look before. It gave me a weird feeling in my gut that I figured could be at least half-blamed on only having eaten brownies today. I kind of liked the feeling and I kind of didn't, and I definitely didn't like that I kind of liked it.

That cemented my decision on the barbeque – I was ready to be out of here already.

"Hi," I said shortly, not looking back at her.

Well wasn't this awkward.

"Jazz, man, give me your car keys. I need to go grab my sweatshirt." I cocked my head and felt my neck pop, still stiff from being hunched over on the roof all day. Jazz'd get the hint. Not like it was a subtle one. Sam was talking to Jake about the car now and Bella was still watching me – I felt her eyes on me as Jazz fished in his pocket.

"I'll come with you," he said, coming forward out of the garage and spinning his key ring around his fingers. It didn't matter that we had fuck all worth stealing – Jasper and I both knew better than to leave anything of ours unlocked.

As soon as we were far enough down the road that we were out of earshot from the others, I cursed and tugged at my hair.

"What were the odds?" I wondered aloud. I mean I knew this county was sparse but _seriously?_

"Oh so get this," Jazz started, laying out his palm as if to physically hand me his information. "_Her_ dad was friends with _Jake's_ dad. Like real tight. Crazy right?"

"Huh," I agreed absently.

What did that mean, _was_? It didn't matter and I was annoyed that I'd put enough mental process into it to catch that past tense.

"Let's book," I told Jazz when we got to the pickup. We should have gone back to the others to say goodbye, but I didn't want Bella giving me that strange look again.

Jazz remained standing next to the cab of his truck, scrunching his face and looking off into nothing. He didn't answer me but hummed noncommittally, bouncing back on his heels.

And I understood.

I blew out a gust of air in frustration and rolled my head back to look up at the overcast sky. The sun was low on the horizon now, the dying light bouncing off the clouds in different colors. That was one thing I missed about Chicago – the sunrises and sunsets were pretty as all hell. There is an unbelievable amount of pollution in the air and it just makes the sunsets fucking gorgeous. Jasper and I had this one place I used to use the fire escape to climb up onto the roof of, to watch them. Real nice stuff. From up there you could just look out across the city and not see any of the people, the buildings black silhouettes with the light directly behind them. It was the closest thing to peaceful I'd ever gotten in the city.

Washington was supposed to be peaceful. It was slow and boring and full of rednecks. I wasn't getting laid or doing much else for that matter, but it had been peaceful damn it. Like after so many years of Jazz and I running around, causing and putting up with untold amounts of shit both on our own and together, we had this almost like vacation. None of the assholes down at the Cook County Parole Board offices or any of the other lowlifes we knew and hung out with. No pollution, no loud neighbors or car horns at all hours of the day and night.

No familiar sights or memory triggers or chances of however minuscule of running into people I had once known. No tightly packed together shithole apartments and giant Catholic churches that gave me flashbacks to corporal punishment. Clean air. Fresh rain.

Peace. Temporary reprieve. That was what Washington was supposed to be.

"You want to invite her over so we can invite her friend Alice over so you can work on nailing her."

It wasn't a question because I wasn't asking. And because it wasn't a question, Jasper didn't have to answer. I sighed again.

"Yeah alright," I mumbled, not bothering to grab my sweatshirt out of the cab. I didn't care how obvious it was to anyone else why we'd really come out here.

I turned around to go back to Jake's garage, more acutely aware now than before of how hungry and tired and sore I was. A shower, some food, and some sleep. Jazz would have to figure out what to do with Bella while he put his moves on her friend on his own. Who knew, maybe he'd go back to her place. Leave me out of it almost entirely.

We got back and I pretended to be interested in Jake's car, listening to him enthusiastically point out the various things he wanted to fix while Jazz took Bella aside and said whatever it was he said. It would be smooth because Jasper was smooth. I heard Bella announce that she was going to go call Alice, and damn if she didn't sound _excited_.

That was unexpected. I wondered if she had a thing for Jazz too and thought how funny that would be. Jazz wouldn't care; he'd hit 'em both. He was undiscriminating. You might like cheesecake better than pie but you're not going to turn down either one if it's offered to you, right?

"So you guys aren't coming to Embry's?" Jake asked me, disappointed. I shrugged and shook my head.

"Blame Jazz," I told him, rolling my eyes. Jake looked over at Jazz and back to me.

"But you'll be around?" he wanted to know. Aw, kid thought we were like buddies now. That was cool with me, I guessed. I liked Jake and his alright.

"Yeah for sure. Next Saturday."

"Cool."

Bella came back and we decided the plan was that she'd ride back with Jazz and I to our place and Alice would meet us there. I assumed they'd go grab dinner or something at that point, because we didn't have a whole hell of a lot back at the house, but it wasn't my concern. Shower. Calories. Bed.

In the truck Bella was chatty, but in this antsy kind of way. She was talking about Billy, who I figured out was Jake's dad, and how he and her dad had been fishing buddies since before she was born and she and Jake had grown up together except for the years she'd lived with her mom in Arizona when she was younger. She asked if either of us had been to Arizona – Jazz yes for like all of five minutes, me no.

I couldn't exactly tell her to shut up but I was getting a headache so I tried to tune her out for the most part. Jazz picked up the slack on that one, prompting her with follow up questions and talking about Jake's car and whatever else.

She smelled nice, like the same way She's smelled the last time we'd given her a ride, and the only reason I noticed was because the cab of Jasper's truck was really not quite big enough for three people to sit so I was crammed kinda close to her. Plus she was shorter than me by enough that I caught the scent of her shampoo every time she turned her head toward Jazz to answer his questions or ask one of her own. Like I said, it was nice. Maybe like flowery. Like girl.

At one point I interrupted her, just because it was gnawing at me and I had to know. The first thing I'd ever learned about this chick was some vague thing about her daddy.

"So where's your dad now?"

"Oh..." Bella trailed off and stared out the windshield, and immediately I regretted asking. This was going to be some kind of serious shit, I could tell. "He, uhm, he's passed away. A couple, a few years ago now."

"That sucks, I'm sorry," Jazz cut in sympathetically, maneuvering the truck around a corner as he spoke. "What happened? Was he sick?" Jazz was better at these kinds of things than I – he wasn't even fazed.

"No, he... got shot. He was working – he was the Forks Police Chief – and he got shot while he was working and he died."

"Jesus," I muttered by reflex.

Dead. Her daddy was dead. Well, shit.

She sounded so sad about it too, and my mind flashed backward to that line I'd overheard at the police station those two weeks or however long ago. Something about Bella's father doing something for her. I'd assumed he'd called to bail her out or he knew someone or something. Of course I had. That was logical, wasn't it, considering? Man, but I'd been a dick. And Bella had given me the first hint of her anger, cursing at me in a way I'd assumed she wasn't capable of based on how she looked.

"I'm so sorry Bella," Jazz told her sincerely. "That really sucks."

It made perfect sense now. Without knowing exactly what it was Bella's father had "taken the liberty of," I got why the cop had cut her and her friends loose. The man had to be some kind of hero around here, going out on the job like that. Couldn't exactly go around tossing his daughter in jail, could they?

I felt bad for her. That had to be a really shitty deal. Obviously Bella cared about her dad a lot or she wouldn't be all broken up about it now. And hell, that was with Jazz being sympathetic. Imagine how fucking raw it must've felt when I'd called her out the way I had, just because I was drunk and pissy.

"Yeah, that sucks," I echoed Jazz faintly, looking down at my dirty hands. Part of me wanted to apologize. I couldn't do that in front of Jazz; he didn't know what I'd said. _You asshole._

"It's okay," Bella assured us even though it kind of wasn't. She spared us the task of dealing with the heavy mood by abruptly changing the subject. "So are you guys hungry? Maybe after Alice shows up we could get dinner?"

"Yeah," I agreed, my guilt pushing my previously cemented plans out of the way. "Yeah we could do that." I wasn't going to be able to shoot her down now, not after that. One meal wasn't going to kill me, as long as we didn't go anywhere disgusting. I could play nice for an hour and a half while Jasper did his thing and was a charming shit.

Jazz tossed me a curious glance over the top of Bella's head and I shrugged one shoulder. This was what he wanted, right? He half-smiled and turned his attention back to the road, and I cracked my neck again.

So much for peaceful.

*************

**The next chapter is a lot longer than the past ones have been, so I apologize in advance. As always, I really appreciate any feedback you guys have for me. Is there anything you're especially enjoying? Anything you think could make this story better? Feel free to let me know!**


	9. Chapter 9

**BPOV**

Over the next week I thought about Edward far more than would have been considered appropriate by either of my best friends had they known. They didn't know, because I didn't want to hear any of Alice's discouragement and Rosalie was still unaware of the true identities of the men who had given me a ride home from the Zeta Alpha party. It was to the extent that when I was sitting in class, ostensibly listening to my professors go on about literature, I was secretly making mental notations concerning Edward. By Thursday the pondering grew out of my head and onto actual notebook paper, me jotting down information instead of notes on my lectures.

What did I know about Edward? Not very much at all. I knew what the dispatcher at the Police Department had told me: that Edward was 25, from Chicago, and had been convicted of two accounts of assault at least. I knew he was tall and stupidly hot with a great body and great features, and that he had a giant tattoo of a dead tree and a whole bunch of weird scars, and that he wasn't "a people person" to use Jazz's words. I knew he hated me for no reason. I knew I had somehow terrified him with my inebriated lecturing.

There were other things too, though. He'd insisted that he and Jazz given me a ride home, that I take his sweatshirt when I was cold. He'd thanked Alice for her sandwich, whatever cowering state he'd done it in, and that had to count for something.

Tentative conclusion: Edward Cullen was some kind of basket case.

I couldn't explain why I was so interested in Edward; I certainly had no rational reason to be. No, rationality dictated that I create as much distance between myself and the man whose unpredictably unpleasant behavior had caused me so much unrest. It didn't work out that way, though. Some things just aren't rational, and it was an irrational thing drawing me toward Edward Cullen, formerly of Cook County, Illinois.

Still, I could try to justify it to myself all I wanted, and I did. I theorized that his bizarre behavior was naturally noteworthy to me, someone who had never experienced anything like that before. I rationalized that if Alice and Jazz saw much more of each other, and I sensed that if Alice had her way they definitely would, then it behooved me to get along with Edward for the sake of comfort and civility. Above all I told myself that it was _not_ because he was hot; _not_ because I was so very attracted to him (which I was).

The series of mental images: Edward at the police station with blood running down his face and shirt; Edward extending his hand to me to give me his sweatshirt under the streetlamp after my fight with Mike; Edward glaring at me with more venom than I had previously had directed toward me in my entire life; Edward sitting on his kitchen floor against the cabinets, his eyes squeezed shut and his knees drawn up to his chest like a kid's.

If Edward was a jigsaw puzzle, none of the pieces I had thus far connected to each other in any discernable way. Clearly, a good chunk of the puzzle was still missing and I wasn't going to be able to start putting it together using only what I had, as much as I might like to. It was going to require further investigation.

Unfortunately, and to both Alice's and my disappointment, Jazz never called her again after she got her car back from his place. Alice wasn't cocky, she was just realistic, and it had seemed pretty obvious that he was into her. She stopped short of blaming me for it, but I think deep down we both decided it was my fault. If I hadn't caused Edward to freak out or, well, whatever it was he'd done, Jazz would have undoubtedly followed up with Alice the first chance he got. Who wouldn't? It was _Alice_.

In any case, due to that little setback I was forced to take matters more fully into my own hands. I shouldn't have been so willing to go out of my way, but I absolutely was. At the very least, I was going to make Edward hear out my apology and then if he wanted to blow me off I would rest easy knowing that I'd done my part. He didn't owe me an explanation, although one would have been nice.

I admit that I cheated a little. Okay, kind of a lot. Jasper hadn't told me to my face that I wasn't welcome at his house, but he'd told Alice I shouldn't come by and that was enough. However, I remembered him telling Alice and I about how he and Edward were "requested" to spend their Saturdays at La Push for the time being, and I recognized that as just the opportunity I needed.

For the first time in a long while I planned a trip to visit the reservation, going so far as to call Billy and ask if he and Jake already had something going on for Saturday. I smiled to myself when Billy told me the only thing Jake was interested in was working on his car – trying to get that hunk of junk going had been Jake's main method of spending time for the better part of a year now. He didn't know that Billy was planning on buying him a functional used car for his nineteenth birthday but that Billy felt this was "good practice" for Jake.

In all the years that I'd been coming to La Push, with Charlie when I was younger and then alone after he died, it had changed very little. The same families living in the same houses, although some of them had grown or shrunk over time. Mostly the same cars parked in the same places. Same daily, weekly, yearly routines. When I'd been a child I'd really enjoyed that level of familiarity; now I wondered if any of them ever got bored of it and just wanted to leave. Jake's older sisters had gone away for college, but they'd also both moved back home as soon as they graduated. Rachel and Rebecca were close to my age, but I'd always gotten along better with Jake. He and I had more in common, whereas Rachel and Rebecca were what one might call "girly" girls. I was most definitely not a girly girl.

La Push was a good hour and a half from Port Angeles, and that was if you were driving. I was not driving, lacking a car of my own, so I spent the first half of the day on public transit. First from Port Angeles to Forks, and then on the twice-daily shuttle from Forks to La Push. I could have asked someone for a ride, probably, but I wanted to do this alone. I justified it by telling myself that it would give me a chance to catch up on my reading for Classical Lit, taking my copy of Sophocles' plays along with me on the journey.

It was mid afternoon when I finally arrived, trudging up the road to the Black house with my unopened book tucked into my bag. I worried that I was too late, that the guys would already be done for the day and have gone home, but then I passed Sam's and sure enough there was Jazz's truck. There were here. The minor rush of victory was enough to propel me the rest of the walk, and when I reached my destination I was further thrilled to find Jazz himself in Jake's garage with him, his head under the hood of Jake's truck as Jake did something in the cab.

It wasn't awkward at all, because neither Jazz nor Jake were awkward people. Jake greeted me with a rib-crushing bear hug and went on to introduce me to Jazz, whose eyebrows were raised in interest. I explained to Jake that I already happened to know Jazz and Edward, just by coincidence, and related to him the tale of Rose's ill-fated prank. That cracked Jake up, and before long the three of us were chatting away. I was careful not to mention Edward at all, not wanting to appear too curious, but in the back of my head I was wondering where he was.

Jazz wanted to know how I knew the Blacks and I told him about how Jake and I had essentially grown up together, our fathers the best of friends. Jake asserted that Charlie and Billy were "the original Bromance," although he then had to explain to Jazz what exactly a bromance was. Inwardly I was thinking that Jazz and Edward themselves qualified as one, possibly even on par with my dad and Billy. They certainly appeared to be quite close. After all, hadn't Edward basically just moved out here because Jazz was? They stuck together.

After not much more than twenty minutes or so, I looked up at the sound of shoes shuffling in dirt and saw Sam and Edward walking towards us while talking to each other. And even though I knew Edward was here at La Push, had been expecting him to show up any time, I still felt a sudden mounting in anxiety. This was it; I had him in my presence. Now what?

_Good question, Swan_. For whatever reason I hadn't thought ahead to this moment or formulated any sort of plan beyond "Edward and Jasper will be at La Push so that's where I need to go if I'm going to see them."

For his part, Edward made it apparent that the last thing he wanted to deal with was me. He barely returned my greeting and everything about his body language said he was uncomfortable in my presence.

...At the same time though, God he was good-looking. More than I remembered him being, even, which was pretty damn attractive. How was it that he got hotter and hotter with each ill-fated encounter? His hair was everywhere and he was covered in dirt and sweat, like something out of a Hot Construction Workers wall calendar. All that was missing was him nonchalantly flexing as he peeled his shirt off or else him raising his head to the sky as he doused himself with a bottle of water.

_Get a hold of yourself. You are gawking._

I _was_ gawking. I couldn't help it. And then Edward unceremoniously announced that he needed something from the truck and he and Jazz were walking away. Damn it, I'd missed my chance. Nothing I could do now but stick around and wait for them to come back, assuming they did. In the meantime, I turned to Jake to get what information I could from him about Edward and Jazz.

Which turned out to be not very much. Jazz knew his way around a car and had mentioned in passing to Jake that he'd worked as a mechanic at some point in the past. He did best with American cars, but had learned a lot about Hondas just because his own little truck was such a beat up hunk of junk. Jake told me that Edward didn't talk much at all, which was disappointing from an intelligence-gathering standpoint but also somewhat a relief. After all, it meant that it wasn't just around me that he was like that. That part, anyway, I was not to blame for. Small comfort but comfort nevertheless. Jazz was chattier, like Jake, but they didn't talk about anything of importance.

Edward had spent both Saturdays over at the Clearwater house doing favors for Sue. Jake sounded almost proud when he told me that Edward was essentially reroofing her entire house for her, all because she had one little leak. Sue Clearwater had extolled Edward's virtues at great length to the other guys when she stopped by Jake's to see if he or Billy needed anything from the store. Jake seems to like Edward a lot too. That was noteworthy and less comforting; so what, Edward was nice to everyone but me? Why?

Because of that assessment, I didn't see it coming at all when they returned to the garage and Jazz asked me if Alice and I wanted to do something. I'd expected that I would have to get as much out of them at La Push as I could before they left. Jake had said that the last week they'd gone to Embry's to hang out, so I'd guessed maybe I could do that too. I'd always gotten along well enough with the Calls and I knew everyone at La Push. This tiny voice in my head told me that my behavior was bordering on overly-interested, to a perhaps unhealthy extent, but I was too curious. Curious enough to force my company on Jazz and Edward and short bursts, and without a doubt enough to accept any invitations that they sent my way.

Things were only mildly uncomfortable on the ride back to Edward and Jazz's, and I tried as hard as I could to make them not be. Jasper made the effort to keep conversation going, but I noticed the way he kept glancing over at Edward as if to check in with him. Edward was being... not exactly _nice_, but at least he was behaving closer to a normal person. No mean comments or menacing words. No indication that he was going to do what he'd done last Sunday night in their kitchen. He wasn't even being snide to me, though the exchange was that he wasn't talking much at all.

Because the drive was so long, Alice was already waiting at their house when we arrived. She bounced down the porch with a grin on her face and waved as the truck approached, and Jazz grin and freed one hand from the steering wheel to give a little wave back. It was cute. In fact, it was safe to say that a lot of Jazz's mannerisms were strangely childlike and adorable for a grown man of his background.

He and Edward both needed showers, and badly, so Alice and I waited for them on the sofa in the barren living room as they got ready. Alice was all atwitter with excitement and no small amount of pleasure that Jazz had finally gotten back to her, though it was in a roundabout way through me. I vaguely wondered, had I not "accidentally" run into him and Edward at La Push, how it would have taken Jazz to call Alice. A week wasn't a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it had felt like ages to Alice after hitting it off with him so well.

I was distracted from that train of thought when the men tromped down the stairs in their clean clothes and towel-dried hair.

Edward was wearing another one of those thermals that were a touch too small for him, not that I was complaining. It was charcoal grey and stuck to his frame in a _very_ appealing way. He also had on black slacks that had faded from too many washes just like his sweatshirt, which he was carrying in one hand. He wasn't smiling but he didn't look sulky, and I hoped that was a positive indicator. When Edward lifted his head his eyes met mine, and I averted my gaze down quickly in embarrassment. _Yeah, you just got caught checking him out. Very suave._

"Guess we should take your car," Jazz said to Alice, scrunching up his face.

"Okay, let me just clear out the back seat," Alice agreed cheerfully, hopping to her feet. I followed her out to the car and we made room by tossing her school things in the trunk, and then I climbed into the back seat so that Jazz could take shotgun. Edward was just going to have to sit next to me – he'd done it in the truck and it wouldn't kill him.

Dinner was a bit of a tricky proposition, as it was quickly revealed that Edward was an extremely picky eater. Big shocker there. In Alice's car he point blank refused every dining establishment we suggested in Forks and the majority of the ones in Port Angeles, even without having been to a single one of them. I was beginning to get exasperated when Jazz leaned over and murmured something in Alice's ear that we couldn't hear from the back seat. She whispered something back and Jazz nodded.

"How about Italian food?" Alice asked at a louder volume, and Edward furrowed his brow.

"What kind of Italian?" he wanted to know.

Seriously? What kind of Italian? There was more than one kind?

Bella Italia was nice a place than any of us had considered going, of that much I was sure. But Edward didn't object to it and I liked their ravioli so it was as good a place as any. Actually Mike had taken me here on our first real date, what felt like centuries ago. I did not mention that exciting tidbit to my dining partners. I _did_ order the ravioli.

Edward ordered, of all things, a salad with grilled chicken. What the _hell_? Not only that, but several times during the meal he glances over at Jazz's steak alfredo with obvious disgust. So, what, on top of everything else the man had an eating disorder? Okay, maybe not an eating disorder but... what kind of man orders a salad for dinner? My own father, my personal litmus test for manly behavior, would have had a steak and potatoes dinner almost every night if I would've let him. The occasional alternative would have been a cheeseburger and fries.

Conversation went well, so that was good. It flowed naturally, much as it had when Jazz had hung out with Alice and I last weekend. Edward even chimed in occasionally, and a few times he would same something funny only to him and Jazz and the two of them would grin. That was really nice to see. I liked Edward's face when he smiled, he corners of his eyes crinkly and his instinctive slight shaking of his head... I was determined to find a way to get him to smile like that for me.

_You sound like a sap._ I blamed the wine we'd ordered to go with our meal.

"We should go to the Gateway after this," Edward suggested to Jazz at one point, smirking and jabbing his friend with his elbow. "I bet they miss us."

At that Jazz threw his head back and full-on laughed, and Alice and I were left to wonder what the joke was. The Gateway Tavern was a notorious dive bar not one block from our current location, certainly not the type of place Alice and I would go for drinks. I knew Emmett and his buddies went there sometimes, when the college bars got boring for them or when they felt like slumming it a little. I knew from Jazz himself that it was a different bar he and Edward had been thrown out of, so what was so noteworthy about the Gateway?

Whatever it was, about the joke and about dinner in general, it put us all in a decent mood. During the drive back to the guys' house Jazz regaled us with details about just how helpless Jake's truck was and how attempting to work on it was near-farcical. I told him of Billy's plan to buy Jake a "real" car soon and Jazz got a big kick out of that. Then again, Jazz got a big kick out of just about everything. He was a foil of literary proportions to Edward's demeanor. Ah, see? I hadn't missed everything in class.

At the house Jazz invited Alice and I in to hang out for a bit and we accepted. He offered us beers and we sat in the living room, once more with Alice and me on the sofa and Jazz sitting cross-legged on the floor. Edward excused himself without explanation and vanished out the front door, leaving me to bear witness to Alice and Jazz's now much further ramped up flirtations.

They were in full swing, too, Jazz making little teasing remarks and Alice giggling in a way that had me rolling my eyes. Really, no wonder Edward had bailed. I was happy for them, I was, but I didn't want to personally bear witness to it. Third wheel status aside, it just reminded me of the way that Mike and I had _never_ been like that. Not even in the beginning.

I'd been shy and we'd both been awkward. The initial courtship was drawn out and hesitant, and when we finally got together none of our friends were thrilled for us. I hadn't known Rose at the time, but if I had she would have made fun of Mike from the start. She'd always had a lukewarm opinion of him as a man, and the fact that I'd never exactly corrected her didn't help. But I don't know; Mike had been _nice_. He was steady and a reliable guy and he had plans. He was going to get his Business Communications degree and get a job at his father's company and take over some day. He was at ease with life, or he seemed like he was.

When we broke up that was lukewarm too. I told Mike I didn't think it was working out and he asked me to reconsider. I said I had been, for a good long while now, and he admitted that he kind of had been too. That had been it. No big fight, no long crying jags during which Alice had to rub my back and hand me fresh Kleenex. Just a lot of moping and feeling sorry for myself.

The last time I'd seen Mike our interaction had _not_ been lukewarm. It had been horrible and upsetting and I didn't know why he'd behaved the way he had except he'd been drinking. Mike had never been like that with me before, and he hadn't attempted to contact me since then. I was glad. Dealing with Mike Newton was the last thing I wanted.

It was around the time when Jasper scooted closer to the couch to lean against Alice's legs in a fashion not unlike a puppy that I announced I need to get some fresh air and excused myself. I couldn't go upstairs in someone else's house without an escort, after all, and my options were extremely limited. I set my beer bottle with the other empties lining the counter around the sink and exited tentatively out the front door.

The sun had set a while ago, but the sky was still in that stage of dusk where it gradually grows to blackness and the insects make their presence more known. Edward was sitting alone on the porch swing sipping his beer, and he turned his head at my arrival.

I flashed back to the first time Alice and I came here, when I'd tried to return the sweatshirt he was wearing now and he'd essentially told me to go fuck myself. We were getting along okay right now, weren't we? Kind of? His facial expression betrayed nothing. I went to where Edward was sitting on the porch swing, digging his heels into the wood to push the swing back at an angle, and clasped my hands behind my back.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, hastily adding, "You can say no."

Edward fixed his gaze on me.

"You think I wouldn't say no if you didn't tell me I could?" he wanted to know, nevertheless scooting over to make room for me.

I dropped onto the far end of the bench, keeping my feet off the ground in case Edward decided to lift his and send the swing forward. He did just that, and we began to rock gently back in forth. As the swing gradually lost momentum and returned to its natural position I examined Edward in quick glimpses that I hoped he couldn't see in the dark. If he did notice, he was pretending that he didn't.

"That's real nice of you, doing all that work on the Clearwater house," I told him, because it was. It made me think that Edward was different than how I'd originally pegged him, which was as a selfish prick.

Then again, everything Edward did left me baffled. His pattern of behavior didn't connect with itself at all. God, why did I find that so fascinating? Shouldn't have I been thinking to myself that it was a clear sign that I need to stay away? But no, here I was, looking for a pattern where there wasn't one. Edward snorted and looked directly at me, his expression wooden.

"It's not 'nice,' Bella," he corrected me without inflection. "It's court-mandated. Do you understand the difference?" Not mocking or patronizing, but like he genuinely thought I might not get what he was telling me.

I wasn't going to let it go there; I _did_ get the difference.

"You didn't have to do all that though,' I pointed out, probably sounding stubborn when I'd meant to sound logical. "She never would've known any better, right? And Jake says you only have to be there one more Saturday."

Edward cocked his head, tilting it to the side as though to better facilitate examining me. I had to fight the urge to squirm under his stare. What was it about this guy, even? He didn't like me and that only made me want to make him like me. He wasn't nice to me and it made me want to prove to him that he was a nice person. Was it just because I found him so attractive? I didn't like that possibility. _Hell, Bella, there are literally untold amounts of hot guys out there, many of them far more functional than this one_. That wasn't the point though – was it?

He didn't say anything and after a while just turned his head away again to look across the porch. Since Edward hadn't spoken, the onus was on me to give it another shot.

"Do you miss Chicago at all?" There, that was a good conversation starter. I knew maybe five things about Edward, and I didn't think we'd reached the "What's prison like?" stage of our friendship yet.

Edward blew out a loud gust of air and took a sip from his beer, holding it expertly with just his thumb and forefingers as he tipped it into his mouth.

"Not really," he answered after swallowing, still looking at the trees or possibly nothing at all.

"I used to miss Arizona," I offered. "But I think what I really missed was my mom."

Arizona itself had held very little appeal for me. It was too hot in the summer and at night in the winter it was too cold and windy, but above all it was too dry. It was barren with that arid kind of heat that doesn't let anything grow, that dries you out and ruins your skin and makes your fingernails brittle. And I'd been a shy child with no friends that weren't imaginary or of the animal persuasion, and when I'd been there I'd just missed my dad back in Forks. It didn't stop me from telling him I missed Arizona when we fought during my snotty teenage years. If only there were a way to travel back in time and take back all those mean words, undo all those stupid fights about the dumbest shit like what time I had to be home...

I was so caught up in my own ruminations that I didn't notice right away that Edward had stiffened. He was gripping the neck of his beer bottle with all his fingers now in a way that wasn't natural at all, and I couldn't be sure in the dark but it looked as though he was clenching his jaw. Great; what had I done now? I wouldn't be able to ask, even, because God knew what he'd say to me then.

"I'll shut up now," I said, folding my hands together in my lap.

I was anticipating several minutes of uncomfortable silence during which I would ask myself why I was still sitting here with a guy that clearly did not want my presence. It was a good question. Maybe I just hated accepting defeat. When had this stopped being mostly about figuring Edward out and more focused on wanting to win him over? I suspected it was some time during dinner, watching him laughing and joking with Jazz. The question I didn't want to admit that I was asking myself was: _Why couldn't Edward be like that with other people? Why not with me?_

"You don't have to do that, you know," Edward stated, relaxing, lifting his beer again.

"Do what?"

He paused with the bottle at his lips before taking a drink from it.

"Say shit just to have something to say." Edward tipped the bottle into his mouth and emptied it the rest of the way. I frowned.

"I'm not," I argued. "I was genuinely wondering if you missed Chicago. Jazz said you lived there your whole life – I wanted to know what it was like to just up and leave."

Edward turned his head in the dark. "The only reason you're even out here is so your friend can be alone with Jazz, right?"

I shifted in my seat because no, that wasn't the only reason. It wasn't even the main reason. More like an excuse, really. There was no way in hell I was about to tell Edward that, of course. That would be just delightful, hearing what he had to say about that. _The truth is, Edward, I've never met someone so hot and interesting. Now that I'm sure you aren't going to brutally murder me, I feel strangely compelled to be around you as much as I can. _Oh yeah, he'd take that real well.

"God even knows what they're doing," I grumbled to myself. Cute little Alice and the Abercrombie model. Why did Alice have to be the one to have it so easy with the object of her attraction? It wasn't like Jazz was brooding or possibly two steps from losing his shit on her. No, he was all smiles and easy charm and really nice teeth and abs. I needed to work on my taste in men.

"Oh he's probably just showing her his stamp collection," Edward tossed out off-handed, gesturing with his palm carelessly as he said it.

I couldn't help it – I giggled. I got what he was insinuating about Alice but... well, as long as he was in a halfway decent mood. This was... I was enjoying this, a far cry from the last time the two of us had been out on this porch alone. Which reminded me; now that we were alone...

"Hey listen," I began, feeling a nervousness creep up on me, "I just wanted to say that, you know, I'm s-"

"_Don't_," Edward cut me off, sharply and abruptly. I looked at him, my eyes widening in surprise.

"But I just-"

"_Do not_," Edward interrupted again, his voice harsh enough to make me recoil. "I'm serious."

_Yeah_ he was.

There it was again, out of _nowhere_, fast enough to make my head spin. I didn't _understand._ I bit my lip and stared down at my lap, blinking and trying not to get upset. I should just get up. I should just go inside and – ugh, I didn't want to go inside... Beside me, Edward took a few deep breaths in the dark, and I expected him to say something mean at any second. To blow up at me like he had before, or worse. Oh god, now what was I going to do?

"Don't say you're sorry. Alright? It makes it worse and I don't want to hear it. I just- Look, in fact, here: I'm sorry I said shit about your dad and you're sorry you whatever and we can just drop it, okay? Call it even?" He was gripping his beer tight again, patting his other hand hard against his thigh in a silent staccato and breathing harder than he really should have needed to.

"Okay," I whispered, hunching over.

That was fair enough, I guessed. It didn't feel right but I let it go because I wasn't too dense to understand that pushing it would without question set him off. We spent a tensed few minutes in silence, me examining my hands. Between the wine at dinner and the beer now I was decently buzzed, enough that it took me a half-step longer to process each thought.

What had I learned about Edward Cullen today? Salad eater, steak hater, re-roofer, smirker, not talkative even normally. Anti-apologies. Insanely touchy?

"I'm grabbing another beer," Edward announced, getting to his feet. He hesitated before adding, "You want one?"

I wasn't a beer drinker in the slightest and hadn't much enjoyed the first one, but I also wasn't about to turn down his offer.

"Yeah, thanks."

I smiled up at him and Edward nodded to himself. He pulled open the screen door to go back inside and I watched it clatter in the frame as his body disappeared into the foyer. During my brief solitude I rubbed my fingers restlessly on the arm of the porch swing and tried to decide what I was doing out here. _Talking to Edward._ Why? _Because he fascinates you._ Yeah... _Because you have a little bit of a thing for him, don't you?_ Aw, crap.

Edward returned and handed me a beer before sitting on his end of the bench, the side of mouth curling up in amusement.

"You might be here a while," he told me casually before taking a drink.

It took me a moment to process what Edward was referring to, and when I understood I was thoroughly appalled. I made a sound to display my disgust, and Edward's smirk widened. Clearly he found my situation amusing.

"You look cold. Are you cold? Here, take my sweatshirt."

Edward set his beer down on the porch and began unzipping his sweatshirt. He shed the garment from his shoulders, leaning forward to peel it off of his arms, and extended it toward me. I shook my head.

"Come on, humor me. Please?"

It was the 'please' that won me over. I set my own beer down and turned my body toward Edward to accept the sweatshirt. He turned his body too, so our knees almost touched, and observed silently as I pulled on the too-large garment. This was some sort of strange mimicry of a previous encounter, a second time Edward engaged in an uncharacteristically sweet offer.

There was something about the way Edward was watching me that made my face heat, and I was glad it was too dark for him to discern my blush. Part of it was the alcohol buzz. Part of it was how charged it felt between us in that instant. I lifted my head and was taken aback by how closer Edward's face was – he'd leaned over at some point while I was bowed down to maneuver the zipper, and I guess so had I.

"Better?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. I nodded once, trying to get myself to stop staring at his mouth.

He had such a nice mouth. Like, _really _nice. And his lips were just slightly parted and he was kind of frowning, but in a concentration type of way rather than an unhappy type of way. Did that even make sense?

_You're getting flustered. Cool it._

More than once, Rosalie had sat me down and explained that men think about sex constantly, and that they are almost _always _in the mood. She was trying to give me pep talks, advice for my ailing sex life with Mike.

"Just go for it, Bella," she'd told me impatiently on multiple occasions. "I guarantee that he'll be up for it. This isn't the fifties – women are allowed to initiate things. Men _love_ it when women initiate things."

"It's true," Emmett had agreed when I'd consulted him for a second opinion. "You know that's how Rosie and I met, right? She totally picked me up at a party."

Of course, a man would have to be out of his right mind to turn down a knockout like Rose. If a guy ever rejected Rose it would be like dividing by zero – God only knew what would happen. The universe would implode. With me and Mike it had been different. I'd put in the effort like Rose suggested, and it was true that Mike was always willing enough, but we never threw ourselves at each other or anything like that.

Right now, in some of the worst timing ever, I very much wanted to throw myself at Edward Cullen, the worst choice ever. Wasn't that borderline suicidal? Yes, yes it was. Only minutes ago he'd been inches from making me cry. Then again, minutes prior to and following _that_ he'd been joking and showing off that sexy smirk. And now he was leaning in toward me just enough, and he'd given me his sweatshirt, and God I was so inept here and when it came to men in general.

The plan had been to apologize to Edward and bury the hatchet with him. The plan had been to talk to him a little more and figure out what made time tick, something I was no closer to now than before. _Just go for it, Bella._ The advice had been meant to pertain to Mike and here I was, about to give it the least likely or practical application it could possibly have.

Acting quickly so I wouldn't have a change to lose my nerve, I brought my head forward and gave Edward a kiss on the mouth.

Well, smushed my lips against his for a couple seconds really, because he didn't reciprocate _at all_. And when I pulled back again to gape at him in shock at my own actions, Edward looked back at me in equal bafflement. _Nice one, Bella. _

Edward furrowed his brow in concentration, pursing his lips. I'd gone this far, had made myself known, and there was no going back. That had been such a stupid, stupid move. The moment I got home I was marching into Rose's bedroom and waking her up by punching her in the arm. Yeah she'd murder me, but if I hit hard enough she'd have a solid bruise at my funeral.

"_That's_ what you want?" Edward asked me, confused and uncertain. He sounded like the idea had never even occurred to him, which it most likely hadn't, and that was embarrassing. I was no Rose, After all. I was no Alice.

Then again, he hadn't recoiled from me in horror yet either – what did that mean? In fact he hadn't moved at all, was still leaning in. Was looking down at me...

Aw hell.

Figuring I might as well push myself over the edge absolutely, I closed my eyes and gave kissing Edward a second attempt.

This one went better.

And by 'better' I mean 'Holy shit Edward kissed me back.' _Really_ kissed me, too, putting his hand on my shoulder and pushing into me as he went right for it with his tongue. Sad to say, in all the years I'd been of kissing age, no one had _ever_ kissed me like that.

It knocked me off my feet, was what it did. It was freakin' _amazing._ Edward lapped his tongue against mine and I returned it eagerly, thrilled when I felt his arm slide around my waist. I assumed that meant I could put my own arms around his neck, so I did.

Apparently Edward and I were getting along a lot better than I'd thought. Apparently Rose was an absolute _genius._ I was going try to bake her one of those cakes she liked, with the cream cheese frosting. I would help her plan a full attack on Chi Nu.

Not unlike the attack that Edward was committing against my mouth, and I now got why harlequin novels so often used the word "ravished" to describe kisses. Yeah, it had seemed stupid. Yeah, Edward was ravishing me right now.

Wow. _Wow._

I let out a whimper and the next thing I knew Edward was pulling me onto his lap, to straddle him on the porch swing with my knees on either side of him on the bench. His feet were braced on the porch to hold the swing still as he drew me tight against him and I could feel him getting hard and _well._ That was pretty fast. This was all quite fast. Rose had been more right than I could have imagined. Edward squeezed my ass and groaned into my mouth, and I moaned back.

I was blissful here. This was a nice place to be. On the porch swing, making out with an incredibly hot guy. Feeling Edward's warm body beneath mine and his arms wrapped around me and frankly I'd never felt anything close to this with a man before. Not with Mike. I was lightheaded and now I was sure it wasn't from the alcohol – I was dizzy from Edward, from the way he was sort of_ handling_ me as he kissed me. I felt _sexy._

"Mm," Edward grunted, breaking away from my mouth to lower his lips to my neck. I sighed and leaned into him more, listening to his breathing against my skin in the silence of the porch. He was panting, running his hands up under my shirt and caressing the skin of my bare back, and Jesus it felt good. His fingertips were rough but I liked that because... it seemed manly, I guess. Edward was a _man_.

I tangled my fingers into his hard the way I'd been dying to do, and it was like silk. I tugged lightly, and Edward groaned against my neck.

_Uh Bella? You barely just met this guy, remember? Before tonight you were reasonably sure he hated you._

Ugh, right. As much as I was enjoying myself, and I unquestionably was, I couldn't let this go further. Not yet. Edward and I needed to get to know each other properly. We needed to start over with a real conversation and Edward needed to-

He was feeling for the fly of my jeans, was what he was doing, his mouth back on mine as he undid the button and went for the zipper.

"Wait!" I gasped, bracing my hands on Edward's shoulder to push myself back. Edward stilled his hands but frowned up at me.

"Wait?" he echoed.

"Yeah, uhm," I was blushing furiously now, embarrassed that I'd gotten so carried away. "I mean, we don't really know each other all that well yet, and I _do_ like you, but we should wait..."

"Wait."

Edward repeated the word again, and now his voice was back to the tonelessness I was more familiar with from him. My heart sank at that lack of tone, sensing that whatever moment we'd just shared was officially over. Edward released me and raked one of his hands through his hair, regarding me blankly.

"Wait for _what_, Bella? Our Senior Prom? Jesus Christ. Get off me."

It was my turn to be confused, But Edward had no patience. He set his hands on my hips and easily lifted me off of his lap, pushing me to the bench beside him as he got to his feet. I could see him trembling, visibly shaken.

I was left to watch in utter bewilderment as Edward went to the screen door and yanked it open, running his free hand through his hair again. He didn't even glance back at me before going inside and letting the screen fall shut, and then I was alone on the porch.

*************

**Oh man! Still with me here? Okay. Sooo what do we think? Yay? Nay? Next chapter is going to be from Edward's point of view, and it might take a bit longer as I'm pretty sick with the flu (Which is why I'm putting this chapter up now instead of yesterday as I'd promised. Sorry about that). Hope you all have a lovely day!**

**P.S. Fifty reviews! Wow! Thank you all so much. I'm going to celebrate by napping. **


	10. Chapter 10

**EPOV**

Above all else, the thing to do right then was just get the hell away from Bella.

The look in her eyes told me Bella felt roughly like I felt, which was like I'd just taken a blow to the jaw. I set her down on the bench harder than I needed to and almost fell into a standing position, so desperate was I to get away. I barreled through the house and up the stairs, not bothering to look over at what Jasper and Alice were still doing on the sofa, and I hid in my room like a fucking coward with the music loud enough that I didn't have to hear anyone or anything.

I had to figure out what the hell to do about Bella. I mean, who _does_ that? Comes on to a guy and gets all into it and then tells him she wants to _wait?_ Like what kind of fucked up game were we playing here? And what was she gonna tell Alice and Jazz about what had happened? Maybe she'd be pissed at me. Maybe she'd like lie and say I'd just gone for it. Girls do that kind of shit when they get pissed at you. They know they can't take you in a fight so they scream at you and they say shit and they lie. I paced my room, mentally composing my defense for when Jazz came in here to ream me over what had just happened on the porch. _She started it! Fuck, I even asked her if she was sure and she did it again and shit, you know? Fuck, man. _Jazz would believe me.

I don't know, something about Bella... something about the way she got under my skin without really getting _anything._ Who did she think I was? What the fuck did she _want _from me? I couldn't tell. I thought I had her pegged until she kissed me and then that threw me. So okay, maybe she wanted to slum a little, like her friend? Was that what this was? It sure as hell fit, the way Bella acted like I was this hugely fascinating thing to her. She'd been doing that all along, giving me these looks as if she wanted to get inside my head somehow.

She freaked me out, like maybe she'd seen too much of me or there was something about the way she talked to me that didn't feel natural. _Why_ was she so interested? What did she _want? _No one was ever interested in me; I had nothing about me to care about. It felt unnatural, this bad fit that made me nauseous. At first it had pissed me off but now it weirded me out and kinda made me uneasy, how Bella acted like she gave half a shit. I was not down for that, not at all. _Especially_ with someone who had seen as much of my insides as she had. Telling me she wanted to _wait,_ like there was going to be another time and place for this shit, like I was one of her whitebread _boyfriends_.

Okay, yeah, sure. There'd be split seconds when she'd smile and I'd catch myself enjoying having Bella around. Pretty girl, well-meaning or thought she was anyway. She wasn't hurting anything. I liked the way she smelled and the way she tucked her hair behind her ears when she talked. Good figure; nice enough tits.

I just shouldn't have kissed her. That was really fucking dumb of me. I was a man and I had a dick and she was a pretty girl, and it was so _fucking_ _stupid_.

I was getting ahead of myself over the whole thing, and the worst part was that I was still _really_ turned on, all geared up from what we'd done_._ Maybe Bella didn't look it but she had some nice action going on there, for real. Once I got my hands on her I'd been all over that, and it had been damn good while it lasted. Bella's skin, that was fucking amazing, just like I'd thought it would be. I'd had the thought out of nowhere that she's probably never had a sunburn, never gotten chiggers or even knew what they were. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'd been kind of wondering how it would feel to touch her back like that, and now I knew.

The body's physiological symptoms of arousal are not unlike those of panic in a lot of ways: shallow breathing, new chemicals like adrenaline being released and circulated in the bloodstream by an increased heart rate, pupils dilating, so on and so on. And just at that moment, I was not sure which is causing what. I wasn't which emotion was overwhelming me right then, and that in itself was some freaky shit.

The thing was, it wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't know how it was supposed to be for me, since I lost that chance long before I could have known it existed, but I was fully aware that this was not correct. This was like malfunction, this whole situation, and I got that the source of that malfunction was me. I felt close to something like I might be able to reach out and really strain my arm and be able to touch it, and I'd never felt that before. I was afraid it was going to figure out how to jimmy the lock and get in at me somehow.

I balled up on my side on my bed, chewed on my thumb nail as I stared forward at the edge of my nightstand in front of my eyes, and focused on the theoretical normal healthy thing that I could see somewhere in the near vicinity.

Bella. I hated her so much right then.

It wasn't fair, sure, but there it was. Without meaning to, Bella was truly fucking with me in a way that I didn't want to handle. Worse was knowing she was going to be around, oh yes she was, until Alice got tired of Jazz or, more likely, vice versa. I couldn't ignore this like I'd initially thought I'd be able to, that much was clear. Plus, and God this was so shitty, maybe I didn't want to.

Because yeah, I was a little hot for Bella. I'd certainly been willing enough to go for it on the porch, hadn't I? And even now, alone in my room in my freaked out state I was wondering what if she hadn't stopped me? I would've nailed her, absolutely I would have. And I couldn't even be totally sure that if she came up here right now asking for it I wouldn't anyway. She wasn't going to do that, come up here. I could see on her face how I'd hurt her feelings when I'd left, and surprisingly I felt bad about that too. It wasn't Bella's fault she didn't get it.

For some reason, lying there on my bed trying to calm down, I thought about Bella's old man. The way she'd just tossed out that he was dead, probably shot while going after some asshole like me. What would her dad say about me? Fuck he'd be pissed Bella'd ever talked to me, that was for damn sure. I wondered, bizarrely, if he was a good dad. I would say he must've been because Bella was so sad that he was gone, but I understood enough about life to recognize that that meant fuck all. Still... he probably was a good guy. Just like Jake's dad, who I hadn't met yet, and Mr. Clearwater, who I was definitely not going to be meeting any time soon.

So my dad, he was this huge bastard, right? A real sick asshole, probably, from what I remembered of him and the kind of shit he would pull. I'd watch him do a number on my mom and then afterwards haul her into the back room for "alone time" and even though I had no clue what the hell that meant I understood that whatever it was my mom was not exactly down for it after my dad took one out on her.

Everything about him was loud, his voice and his actions and the way he stomped around. My earliest memory of my old man goes like this: I'm on my hands and knees under the kitchen table, the absolute shit scared out of me. Don't remember exactly why anymore. And I see my dad's shoes and the bottoms of his legs making their way around the table as he pulls out the chairs. One at a time, slow and loud, scraping them against the bare wood floor to make this high pitched whine, to get to me. And I'm just waiting, one chair at a time, watching those feet, waiting for him to get to me.

I guess I figured it was average. That pattern of behavior, the kinds of things that made life the way it was. It couldn't sustain itself the way it had been forever, or even for very long. I didn't get that. Five year old kids don't have the capacity to understand that life is not salient, that shit has to change. I thought we'd be the way we were for all time, in this continuous state of being on edge. That is was ordinary if not pleasant.

Which in retrospect was fucking crazy, because that shit was not ordinary. "Ordinary" was so fucking far from what we were that it was not even in the same God damn ballpark.

I thought I'd be happier if my father died. If he just up and exploded one day, combusted and disappeared into the ether, that sounded pretty fucking good to me. I was sure my mom wanted it – had heard her say so many times, to me and to his face if she was in a mood. I'd have these dreams, not nightmares but just really vivid dreams, where I took him out myself and my mommy was so happy and I was her hero and then we lived happily ever after. Even with my dad gone I kept having the dreams, like I could slay that dragon and make it all better. Yeah right.

When he left my dad took with him the last of the days my mom _wasn't_ in a mood. There'd been so few of them before anyway, but then there were none. She cried and told me how she missed him, told me it was my fault. That was basic rule number one around our place: it was Edward's fault. If she hadn't had me, if she'd gotten rid of me the way her parents wouldn't let her do, no one would be in this fucking mess. And man, I felt so bad for that. I'd tell her how sorry I was, how much I wanted to make it up to her, but there was no making up for my existence.

She drank. As an adult, I got that. She was a fucking alcoholic and shit, with a husband like that who wouldn't be? I remembered my grandma, my dad's mom, telling me once that my mom had always been a drunk, that she couldn't even hold off while she was pregnant with me. Gin, and the reek of gin still turned my stomach.

"Lucky there's not something really wrong with you," Grandma told me, squinting at me over the top of her glasses. "Then again, maybe there is." I was four.

Where was Bella's mom now? Still around? What was she like? Why was I asking myself that question, as if it mattered? It didn't matter, and I didn't like that it had occurred to me. I was already thinking about this too much, thinking about parents in general since I was upset and 'cause that was my default. I didn't care about Bella's mom or her dad except the mental image I couldn't shake of how pissed they'd be with their daughter for what just went down on the front porch and what _would've_ gone down if it hadn't been for Bella doing a 180 on me.

_Wait. What for what?_ What were we waiting for?

Right after my dad left, my mom was the worst she'd ever been. I mean it was _really fucking bad_, the mess in the apartment and the filth and she herself. She was dirty, limp when she wasn't angry or crying. We had no food except cheap shit from the liquor store that I was supposed to live off of, cheez crackers and cellophane wrapped whatevers. The most unhealthy food they make, if you can call it food, and I was never going to touch another plastic packaged food again so long as I lived, no fucking way. I looked back on it and I could feel my insides rotting out, all unwholesome and damaging. Anything that had an ingredient I couldn't pronounce wasn't going into my body. Never again. As an adult I had control, even when it meant refusing to eat in prison for weeks at a time until I'd pissed off the guards and then when I'd gotten so sick I got sent to the infirmary. They couldn't make me. No one could make me do anything ever again.

And Mom's face was still super fucked up after Dad was gone. The swelling on her mouth and eye had gone down and you could see both her ears again, this strange gradual transformation. I didn't get it. Like I honestly did not fucking comprehend why she was so sad. He was gone. We were going to be okay now right?

Yeah, no, things were not okay. That was it. That was the lit match, I guess, the unchecked gas leak that set everything else off. And as my mom's face healed she became less and less human, less my Mommy and more this thing that went beyond what I was capable of comprehending.

There'd been times when she'd wailed on me before. Sure there had, because it was my fault? When my dad beat on her I knew it was coming, that she'd turn around and deal it back on me. Or when the corner store wouldn't cash her check or after the landlord had just come by to hassle her. If I wet the bed – I did that a lot – or some other kind of little kid stunt I had no real control over. She'd smack me sometimes, but she was also more creative than my dad. My mom, she liked to change it up a little.

She got a lot more creative when it was just the two of us.

The day I'm thinking of, I can't even think what it was that got her going. Just that it was a bad mood, a bad feel to the house. Must have been after Daylight Savings, 'cause it seemed like it was always dark outside around that time. I was sitting in the corner of the living room, drawing or some shit like that, and my mom came out from her bedroom in her shirt and underwear, cigarette in her mouth and she just stood there, leaning against the wall watching me with her half-deformed-but-getting-better-face.

By then I knew better than to talk to her, even if I wanted to, so I kept doing what I was doing. After a while she came forward, sort of fell forward onto her knees on the floor next to me, getting her gin sweat smell right up on me. I looked up at her, waiting for it. I might have been young and stupid but I had the instinct to recognize a pattern when I saw one.

The anger came out of nowhere it seemed like, but God only knew what she'd been thinking alone in the back bedroom all day that got her so pissed off. Probably something about my dad. Sometimes she'd start off that way.

"If it weren't for you, you little bastard, he wouldn't've left. Why would a man want to come home to this?" Like that was an explanation, as if it said all that needed to be said.

That's now how it was this day though. This day it wasn't about my dad, it was about women. Maybe like three months shy of my sixth birthday.

"Always use a rubber," my mom told me, sticking her finger in my face and poking me in the cheek, breathing hot on me. "I don't want to see you getting some whore pregnant. You're always fucking things up."

I had no clue what a rubber was but I looked up at my mom all big eyed and serious and really fucking scared and promised her that yes, no matter what, I would always use a rubber.

"Fucking church," my mom spat, and she fell back on her legs but didn't quite catch her fall.

She kept on going, too, telling me how women will screw you whenever they can. I didn't... I wasn't sure how to take that but I guess I thought she meant every woman but herself. I still don't know _what_ she meant. I just listened, that being the safest course of action, waiting until she wound down or passed out or just hit me or something and got it over with.

Mom'd be proud to know I'd taken her advice that I didn't grasp at the time to heart. Always carried a condom in my wallet, despite not having gotten laid in so long now that I had to really work to think when it had been. Way before Washington. I wasn't looking for it but I wasn't _not_ looking for it, that was for damn certain. I _was_ apparently having less luck than Jazz.

I briefly tossed around the idea of going back downstairs to tell Bella I was sorry, but it wasn't gonna happen. I only wanted to forget anything had happened, staring dead-eyed over the edge of the night stand but not really staring at anything at all.

Anyway, apologies _never_ made it better. If anything they made it worse because an apology was like an admission of guilt, you know? If you say you're sorry, all you're really saying is that you know you fucked up big time and that you probably deserve what you're gonna get for it. Shows how much preservation instinct I had – I always tried anyway, some faulty manner I'd been taught somewhere along the line but was not working out for me.

And Mom, she always said sorry, too. Afterwards she'd get sad or slow and tell me she didn't mean it, she was _sorry_, and it was so empty like it was just part of this pattern. Apology meant moving onto the next phase, which was waiting for it to happen again. I took her apologies the way I took everything else from her: with as little noise and fuss and I could manage.

That day my mom was telling me all about how evil women were, she grabbed me by the hand and marched me into the bathroom, and together we knelt on the tile while she turned the hot tap on and waiting for the water to heat. Kinda this perverted version of the way you get on your knees to pray. The entire time she was half crying and half screaming and I – I wasn't crying anymore. I got that we'd passed that point and I was in for no matter what it was. Which happened to be, on that particular occasion, holding my hand under the scalding hot water faucet as punishment for some unknown transgression.

For existing.

Fuck, it hurt _so fucking bad_. The water splashing over the back of my hand and up my wrist and running down my arm into the sleeve of my filthy t-shirt. It wasn't the worst thing she'd done or would do to me, but in that moment it sure as hell felt like it was.

When my mom let go of my wrist I yanked my arm back to cradle it to my chest and stared down at the bright red flesh that still had steam rising off of it. It fogged in my face, mixing with the agony to blur my vision. My mom slammed on the cold water faucet to even up the temperature and told me to take a fucking bath already because I reeked, and like that she was gone from the bathroom, me huddled up on the chipped tile.

The next day at school when I got sent to the nurse and they asked me what happened, I lied. I told them I stuck my hand under the faucet myself with out checking the temperature, like an idiot. Pretty clever for a kindergartner. I covered for my mom a lot of the time, especially as I got older. Whenever someone at school asked me what happened or if things we okay at home I would lie hard and unequivocally. Oh I was such a little liar. Most of the time I just said I got into a fight or that I hurt myself, and in retrospect that probably screwed me over as much as anything else. If I took my own word for it, I got into a _lot_ of God damn fights as a kid. Everyone thought I was this bad seed; no one questioned it.

As I got older my mom did... other stuff to me too, but it wasn't like... she just wasn't herself anymore, is what I'm saying. She was this thing that kind of looked like a bloated version of the way she used to be, kind of acted like it too, and I understood that no matter how I dreamed it, it wasn't going to get better. And I guess the state agreed because when I was twelve and starting middle school _finally_ someone saw through my bullshit and yanked me out of our home.

"Home." Heh. Man, I was so pissed. Like who were they to get involved? It wasn't any of their business.

I was not anyone's God damn business, and I wanted to keep it that way. That's what was so nice about Jazz. He didn't ask questions. We knew some things about each other but he didn't pry and neither did I and it was good that way. It was part of why we got on so well. Mutual respect. I hadn't had a lot of that in my lifetime, and neither had he.

I stretched my arm out in front of me, letting it hang off the edge of my bed, and examined the faded scar that covered the fatty part on the back of my thumb. It was barely visible, but I knew it was there and that was what mattered. Bella didn't have any shit like that, not that I felt while we were going at it for those brief minutes. Fuck, I wanted to touch her again. Run my hands all over her perfect skin and God damn it what were we supposed to be waiting for? Tomorrow? Would she fuck me tomorrow? What about Thursday? What about next weekend? What would be different then? Nothing. Nothing would be different a day, a week, a month, a year from now.

Christ, I just wanted to get laid and then be left alone. Was that such a God damn crime? Why was there no way to have both at the same time? I didn't want Bella's attention, didn't want her looks or her apologies or her interest. I wasn't out for sympathy and if anyone felt bad for me, Bella included, then that just made them a sucker. When you have sympathy, that's exploitable, and if you're a sympathetic person then someone is always going to be around to take advantage of that.

I could see some asshole taking advantage of Bella and that grated on me. Just like with Mrs. Clearwater and how she hadn't thought twice leaving her house unlocked, Bella was stupid enough to leave herself open to all kinds of shit. I wasn't going to fuck with her but how did she know that? She didn't, any more than I knew it about her. And I didn't _want_ to know, wasn't really interested in learning much else about Bella.

Even though I kind of was.

I was messing with myself was what it was, feeling like I cared when what I needed was to get some.

Stupid.

It was fine to fuck her but _not_ to wait to fuck her, not to make it this long term goal to get to know her and _then_ fuck her. Because honestly, if we waited, what the hell did Bella think she was going to find?

*************

**Thank you everyone for the patience and the well-wishes! I'm feeling a lot better, so now we can get back on track with regular updates. As always, I love hearing what you guys think.**


	11. Chapter 11

**BPOV**

When I told Alice what had transpired between Edward and me on the porch while she and Jazz were doing only God knew what (and I was sure she'd tell me all about it later), she laughed at me. _Laughed_, and with genuine amusement as though it were one of the funniest things she'd heard recently. I folded my arms across my chest indignantly to let her know that wasn't exactly the helpful or empathetic of my supposed best friend to act, but Alice didn't see it because she was doubled over and clutching her stomach in mirth.

"You told him you wanted to wait," she giggled helplessly, and I swore I saw tears forming in her eyes. "And what did Edward say?"

I frowned, inwardly debating on whether or not share Edward's precise wording with Alice. Something told me that, given her current state, his line about "Senior Prom" would only fuel her further.

"He was... he said to forget it," I muttered, annoyed all over again.

Alice rolled her lips inward, a failed attempt to conceal her merriment, and I was beginning to get downright huffy. If there was some joke here that I was missing, it would be nice of her to fill me in.

"And that was it?" Alice asked, propping her chin on her hand to watch me intently. I shrugged.

"Basically."

There was the part where Edward had all but run away from me in his haste to escape, but I wasn't about to share that with Alice either. After all, my ego was bruised enough as it was. I'd barely had time to revel in the fact that Edward was interested in me before he... wasn't interested anymore, and that stung. What had I done wrong? Was I a bad kisser? Was I, Bella Swan, not sexy? I mean okay, no, I wasn't, but I hadn't thought I was so repugnant. To call it an ego blow was an understatement.

These were the questions I needed answers to, and this was why Alice and I were sprawled out on my bed, flipping through back issues of her women's magazines as I recounted the details of last night's failed romantic encounter to her. If anyone knew anything about guys it was Alice. Well, her or Rosalie, but I'd had enough of Rosalie's dating and sex advice. That was what had gotten me into this mess in the first place, I reasoned, and now I needed to sort it out.

"Okay, okay, wait. Let's start over." Alice folded her legs crosswise and leaned in over them. "You and Edward were sitting on the porch, just talking, and you decided to kiss him?"

"Yeah..." This was something like the fourth time we'd gone over this by now.

"And he kissed you back, and all was good..."

"Yeahhh..."

Not just good, but _very_ good. Great. Fantastic. Edward had one hell of a mouth on him, and not only when it came to saying snarky shit. Simply put, the guy could kiss. And when he'd dragged me into his lap and had his hands all over me and was groaning the way he'd been, well, the sad truth was that it was probably the sexiest encounter of my young adult life and we hadn't even had sex. We hadn't done _anything._ The knowledge that I'd been so into it when Edward had not been was depressing, and Alice's amused interest was only exacerbating that.

We'd been at this for about twenty minutes already, four times longer than that actual encounter itself had taken, and all that was accomplished was me relaying my edited version of events to Alice several times as both of us scanned her back issues of Cosmo and Vogue like investigators looking for clues.

"And then you told him you wanted to wait and he said to forget it."

"_Right_."

Another laugh burst forth from Alice's mouth, and she quickly clapped her mouth over it in the most futile attempt at concealing mirth that I had ever personally witnessed.

"Alice," I said, not making even a token attempt to hide my own feelings, which were decidedly less jovial. I was in fact in a _terrible _mood. "I'm looking to get advice here, not entertain you."

"I know, Bella, I'm really sorry. I am. It's just, well... I never pictured it is all, you know? You making a move on a guy. No offense."

I _was_ offended, even though I'd never pictured it either. Part of it, and sure this was old fashioned, was that in my head the guy always came along and swept the girl off of her feet. A bigger part of it was that I never would have thought myself ballsy enough, especially with a guy like Edward. Had it been the meager amount of alcohol? Perhaps some kind of hormone-induced temporary insanity? Whatever it was I was regretting it now, and that was purely because of the way it had ended.

"It doesn't matter anyway," I mumbled, staring down at an advertisement for vodka that bizarrely featured several shiny naked men in a tent. "Clearly he isn't interested."

"I don't know, Bella, it sounds to me like he was _plenty_ interested."

But see that's what I'd thought too, until Edward bolted. This was pointless; we weren't getting anyway and trying to talk about it was only making me feel worse. So I'd struck out; big deal, right? It happened... well not to everyone, certainly not either of my housemates, but to most people. I'd lick my wounds for a while and get over it, I supposed. The thought that I might never be kissed like that again was enough to make me want to cry, which on top of everything else was embarrassing. I shoved the magazines in front of me aside with an impatient huff and lifted my head to look at Alice directly.

"Forget about it," I told her firmly, exuding finality I didn't feel. In blatant attempt to distract her with what I knew she had to be dying to discuss, I added, "tell me about you and Jazz."

I knew I'd successful distracted her at least temporarily when Alice's eyes lit up and her entire posture shifted. I mentally prepared myself to hear a tale that would without question make me seethingly jealous.

"He's wonderful," Alice sighed, the stereotypically dreamy statement of everyone smitten woman in every romance movie ever. I sensed immediately that I was not going to endure the remainder of this conversation, and before I knew it I was rubbing ineffectually at my eyes with the back of my hand.

I was crying. God, this was so awful and stupid and why did I care so much? It wasn't just that Edward had rejected me, but the strange and abrupt manner in which he'd done it. Then again, everything about Edward was strange and abrupt. Why would this be any different? I'd really put myself out there, stepping out of my comfort zone to show him I was interested.

"What's wrong with me?" I sniffed. "What did I _do_?"

Alice was on it instantly, jumping to her feet to grab the box of Kleenex off f my nightstand and falling to her knees beside me to proffer it for my use. I grabbed a wad and blew my nose noisily as Alice gave me a sympathetic frown. When I was done I continued to sit there, looking at Alice helplessly with my used tissue crumpled in my hand.

"Maybe it's not you, Bella," Alice suggested, licking her lips in preparation to form the rest of her thought. She reseated herself and took my hands in hers, and I preemptively winced at her tone. "Here's the thing. Edward and Jasper, they're not like the guys we know. You know? I'm not saying that you're a prude or anything but, uhm, well, maybe you thought you were doing one thing, and Edward thought that you were doing another."

It took me a moment, and when I got what Alice was saying my jaw dropped. Basically, Edward thought I just wanted to have sex with him? And when I'd put the kibosh on that, he'd lost interest. Okay, Alice hadn't used those exact words, per se, but the basic interpretation was that. So Edward wasn't even temporarily interested in me for those few minutes that had felt so amazing to me? Was that true? Hell, that didn't make me feel better. That made me feel about ten million times _worse_.

As if reading my mind, Alice hastily tacked on, "I'm not saying he's not interested in you, but guys' minds work differently."

"I really like him," I told her, and finally saying those words out loud made me realize how true they were.

This wasn't just about forcing Edward Cullen to accept my apology, or making nice with him for the sake of my friend. It wasn't even about figuring out what his problem was or why he did the weird things he did. I _liked_ him, I was emotionally invested him, and my God that had to be one of the dumber things I'd done recently even including the Chi Nu thing. That mess was nothing compared to this one, and that one had ended with us in jail. Now I was going to have to deal with being around a man I liked who didn't like me back, and our having kissed was only going to make it worse. Damn it. _Well done, Bella. You deserve some kind of reward for Most Ridiculous Month Ever_.

I was more than ready to be done talking about this now, to climb back into bed and sleep for about ten million years in the most pathetic, self-pitying way. I felt worse now than I had when Mike and I had broken up, and that knowledge was startling and upsetting in and of itself.

"What you need to do," Alice said, "is get his attention."

"I _had_ his attention," I pointed out. I'd actually gone really out of my way to get his attention, what with the whole bus trip to La Push and all. In retrospect that had been absurd. Alice huffed impatiently.

"That's not what I meant, Bella. I mean get his interest. I bet he does like you, he just needs a little... push in the right direction. We're not at the end of the line here. Listen I have to go get ready, Jazz is coming to get me in a little bit."

"Oh yeah?" I asked glumly, not feigning interest. Of course he was coming to get her. Jazz was "wonderful."

"Mm, we're going to go to go get a chair and a coffee table for their living room. Can you believe how that place is decorated? I wouldn't even call it decorated. It's so barren!"

Leave it to Alice to hook up with a guy and then force him to buy coordinating furniture. I was sure Jazz was only too happy to oblige her. How sickeningly domestic of the both of them. Next she'd sweetly suggest that the wallpaper in the kitchen was outdated and that the chain link fence was tacky, and before Jazz knew it... No, I was being uncharitable and bitchy. I was letting my bad mood get the best of me. Alice was my friend and she'd willingly just sat here with me as I espoused my tale of woe.

She felt genuinely bad for me too, I could tell. That was something. If it were Rose, she would have told me to suck it up and that there were plenty of other fish in the sea. If it were Rose, she probably would have made fun of me for being stupid enough to think a _man_ like Edward would willingly indulge my old-fashioned desire for Edward and I to get to know each other before going at it on a piece of aged outdoor furniture.

Oh, shit, and speaking of Rose...

"Hey Alice?" I asked, not meeting her gaze. "What, uhm... is Jazz picking you up here, you said?"

She was rightfully suspicious. "Yeah, why?"

"Well I hear the television downstairs. Are Rose and Emmett here?"

A pause. _Oh yes, Alice. Remember Rose?__ How do you think she's going to feel when she learns you're spending the day furniture shopping with a felon?_

"Shoot. I didn't even think of that." Alice scrunched up her nose.

Yeah, that was going to be a fun one. Because if Alice and I had recognized Jazz immediately upon seeing him again, so would Rosalie. And as previously noted, Rosalie was not the charitable benefit-of-the-doubt type. I could only imagine her reaction upon Jazz rolling up to the house in his pickup. I wanted to ask Alice how in God's name this dilemma had not struck her before, but I was too busy wondering why it hadn't occurred to me either. After all, it was only by luck that Rose and Emmett weren't around the last time Jazz was over. Two visits was surely pushing it.

"Well, I'll just meet him out front," Alice reasoned, her tone betraying her uncertainty.

I shook my head.

"What, and then you'll start sneaking out to see him like a fourteen year old with a curfew? Get real, Alice. Rose isn't our mom."

She didn't answer though, and it was because sometimes, yeah, Rose _was_ our mom. I could absolutely envision a scenario in which Alice or I attempted to sneak out of the house without Rosalie catching on. And the thing was, we wouldn't get away with it if we did. _And_ we'd feel _guilty_ when we got caught. Hadn't I asked Alice not to tell Rosalie it was Edward and Jazz who'd given me a ride home after my fight with Mike? Oh yes I had.

I felt true pity for Alice now, witnessing her concentration as she worked to come up with a plan. I reasoned that I wasn't merely being vindictive – it was a valid concern I'd raised and Alice was lucky one of us had thought of it. At least this way she wouldn't be blindsided when Jasper got his second black eye in less than a month.

"You should just tell her," I encouraged Alice, listening to my voice take on a foreign assertiveness. "Rose can't control who we date. That's ridiculous. Right?"

"Right..." Alice agreed doubtfully, wrinkling her forehead.

"Don't take her guff," I urged, standing up to pull Alice toward the hall.

In spite of her nervousness, Alice giggled at my words.

"Did you just say 'guff'?" she wanted to know.

In any case, my efforts to foster a confrontation between Alice and me and Rosalie were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Too late – Jazz was already here.

"Come in," Emmett's voice boomed through the house, as friendly as if this were his place rather than ours. Alice and I glanced at each other awkwardly.

We bounded down the stairs into the living room right as Jazz entered through the kitchen. Rose and Emmett were sitting together on the sofa, their backs to him, and I saw that Alice had the idea to get Jazz back out of there before his presence was made known. Confrontation, nothing; she was ready to execute a hasty retreat maneuver.

"Hey Alice," he greeted her warmly when he saw her, his mouth splitting open into a toothy grin. He looked over her shoulder and me, and I wanted to know what Edward had said to him about me. Anything? What did Jazz thing of me now?

"Hi Jazz," Alice said quickly. She hooked him by the arm to steer him back through the kitchen, but was thwarted when his eyes landed on the television screen.

"Hey is that the Seahawks-Giants game?" he asked, stepping further into the living room. "What's the score?"

Alice groaned. So much for the fast getaway.

"Fuckers are up by three," Emmett groused. He didn't need to elaborate which team he was referring to; that everyone around here rooted for the Seahawks was simply a given.

Emmett turned his head to see who he'd just spoken to and Jazz raised his hand in a friendly wave. Emmett was midway through returning this greeting when Rosalie turned too. Her greeting was decidedly less welcoming.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" she demanded, jumping to her feet. Jazz fell back a step, startled.

"Uh, sorry?"

"_Sorry?_" Rose stalked toward him, eyes narrowed, as I watched from the base of the stairs. Still on the couch, poor Emmett was baffled. He didn't know Jazz from Adam.

"Well, we have to go sooo..." Alice was tugging at Jazz's arm, anxiously guiding him away from Rosalie. _Oh, good luck with that one Alice._

"WE?" Rose thundered.

One thing my father taught me when I was little was how to get away from a wild animal when being threatened or attacked. First, the important thing is to distract it. If you don't have a partner, try throwing a rock or your hiking pack away from your body. This will divert the animal's attention away from you long enough to buy you time. Next, make loud noises. If it's your friend under threat, then draw the animal's attention away from her so she has a chance to get away or something. I'd never had occasion to use this information, having never been menaced by a wild animal, but right now Rose was close enough.

"Hey Rose," I spoke up loudly, causing her to swerve and face me. I continued with forced brightness, "You remember Jazz, don't you? This is the guy who rescued me from Mike the other night!"

"Hey man, good on you!" Emmett said, getting to his feet. "That was super cool of you."

Rose arched her eyebrow at me, then at a sheepishly smiling Jazz, then back at me.

"Oh, _really_?"

"Yeah, really," I babbled on, "And he was so nice about it and his friend gave me his sweatshirt and Alice and I went to return it the other day, the sweatshirt that is, and she and Jazz hit it off and now he's going to run errands with her and the reason she didn't mention it is because she didn't want to interrupt you and Emmett while you were watching the game _isn't that right Alice?_"

There was a tense moment during which Rose regarded all three of us skeptically and Alice and Jazz both shot me grateful looks. Not even knowing Rose, Jazz at least had enough sense to know when someone was trying to help him out.

"Well," Rose said finally, her tone cool but no longer disdainful. "I hate to keep you both." She folded her arms over her chest and huffed, signaling that the crisis was diverted. For the time being, anyway – Alice was still definitely going to hear about this later. I took a deep breath and sighed with relief.

"Okay well we-" Alice started.

"Fucking _shit_," Emmett groaned out of nowhere just then, and we all turned to look at him. He was watching the screen again, more interested in the game than whatever near-fight had transpired. The Seahawks were not having a great day, and their loss was our gain.

"Are you kidding me?" Rose echoed Emmett's sentiment, drawn back to the couch with a magnetic-like pull. I saw my opening, and I took it.

"Hey you guys?" I addressed Alice and Jazz, "Do you think you could drop me off at Harvest on your way?" Harvest was the coffee shop and café near the campus that I liked to go to for studying. I smiled sweetly, knowing very well that they weren't in a position to turn me down now. Not after what I'd just done for them.

"For sure," Jazz agreed, grinning easily. Alice raised her eyebrows at me.

She knew what I was up to, no doubt, but she didn't make a fuss or try to stop me. She merely sat between Jazz and me in the cab of his truck and leaned on him while she fiddled with the radio dial. It was a five minute drive to Harvest, at least. Enough time for me to get in a few pertinent questions.

"What's Edward up to today?" was the first thing I wanted to know. I wouldn't bother being coy – Edward had either told Jazz what happened or he hadn't. In any case my question was perfectly friendly and valid.

"Just chillin'," Jazz answered, equally casual. If he knew something he wasn't letting on.

I made a few basic follow-up queries, trying to keep it cool as I fished for information, but it was all for naught. Jazz kept it at the really shallow level, expertly diverting back onto me or Alice. He was smooth, I'd give him that much. By the time I got dropped off at Harvest I'd learned nothing other than the fact that Edward was home alone and that he was "doin' alright" as far as Jazz knew. _Real big help there, Jazz._

I couldn't even pretend to study – my mind was completely preoccupied with the beautiful man who had shot me down. And while earlier I'd been more than ready to bawl as I wallowed in my defeat, I'd gotten some kind of second wind after seeing Jazz that made me change my plans completely.

Consider what Alice had said. _What you need to do is get his attention. I bet he does like you, he just needs a little push in the right direction._ Could that be true? That Edward liked me and I'd just handled the situation poorly? I was understandably reluctant to assume anything where Edward was concerned, but at the same time Alice knew far more about dating and guys than I did. Her words were the best I had to go on.

And damn it, I _wanted_ Edward. Sure he was mood and quite possibly bipolar or something, but I had this feeling that deep down he was a nice guy. If he wasn't, would someone like Jazz be his best friend? If Edward were this irredeemable asshole, would he have offered me his sweatshirt not once by twice now? I didn't think so. And I couldn't forget how amazing that kiss had been, how for the first time I'd really felt alive with a guy touching me. Whether it was Edward or the circumstances or what, I wanted it again. I wanted to know more about that kind of tingly sexy feeling that I'd previously thought might not actually exist outside of movies was real, and I wanted to learn about it from Edward.

I was so caught up in my ruminations that I didn't notice at first when someone came to stand by my corner table. I heard a throat clearing loudly and looked up to find none other than Mike himself looming over me, an appropriately-contrite-but-not-contrite-enough expression on his face. His hands were clasped behind his back, his anxiety at approaching me evident.

"Hey Bella, How, uh, how's it going?"

I stared up at him blankly, hoping he couldn't see how jarred I was by his unwelcome intrusion upon my daydreaming.

"Okay well, uhm, I was wondering if you might have a moment to talk?"

Fantastic. No really, that was absolutely what I needed just then. Mike must have been born with the innate ability to make himself known in all the worst ways at all the worst times in someone's life; that was the only explanation. I was surprised by the venom of my own thoughts, of my urge to tell Mike to piss off. That was new – where had that come from?

"I don't really think-" I started, but then I had to stop and reconsider.

It felt like we should have this conversation some time, and it might as well be now, right? It wasn't as if my weekend was going to get any worse, now, was it? I gestured for Mike to take a seat across from me as I revised my initial rejection of his request.

"You owe me an apology," I said flatly, propping my elbows on the table to stare at the man I'd spent the past two years of my life.

"I'm really sorry, Bella. I know I was behaving like a total cock and I feel so bad about that. I shouldn't have acted like that and..." He kept going, but I wasn't listening to him. I saw his face, but his voice was like the adult characters in a peanuts cartoon; I'd tuned him out completely.

It was surreal, as though I didn't know Mike anymore. How could that be? He was still the same guy, I just hadn't seen him for a while and I no longer felt the same about him. Mike, the boy I used to spend evenings on the sofa watching reruns of House with. I knoew what he liked on his pizza and which subjects he hated. We'd lost our virginity to each other, for Christ's sake. And now I was sitting across from him at Harvest and it was like he was a total stranger to me.

Not in that melodramatic way you see in Lifetime Originals where the wife finds out her husband is a serial killer or something. Mike wasn't a monster. I just felt this odd disconnect from him in the wake of our breakup, almost as though the past two years hadn't happened. Suddenly I wondered why it had taken me as long to break up with Mike as it had. Looking at him now I was somehow totally aware that I felt nothing romantic for him anymore, and that maybe I hadn't for a very long time.

I heard Edward's words from last night echoing in my head. _Don't say you're sorry. Alright? It makes it worse and I don't want to hear it._ Made it worse? Made _what_ worse? How? What did that mean?

Now I didn't _care_ what Mike was saying. I wasn't mad at him anymore. I wasn't anything. I was back on Edward as if Mike wasn't even here, wondering what Edward had meant when he told me not to apologize, that it would only aggravate things.

"Hey Mike," I interrupted him in the middle of I don't know what he was saying. Startled, he waited for me to go on. "Do you think you could give me a ride home?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Flustered, Mike got to his feet and stood dutifully by my chair as he waited for me to stand. I gathered up my things and followed him out to his car. During the drive home we were silent, and I recognized that this was it. This was very likely the last time I was ever going to speak to Mike Newton. It was a strange thing to be aware of, in the moment, and I wasn't sure how to deal with it so I didn't. Instead I stared out the window at the familiar houses and cars and before I knew it we were pulling up in front of my house.

"Mind if I come in and use your bathroom?" Mike asked as he threw the car into park.

I guessed he might be asking because he also sensed that we'd reached the end of the line. Maybe this was his way of trying to prolong it a little further. I didn't care so I told him fine, and it wasn't until after we climbed out of the car that I recognized Jazz's truck parked beside us. A large chair and coffee table were sitting in the back of it, and Jazz was standing on the street by the driver's side door, leaning in to do something in the cab. Further inspection revealed someone sitting in the passenger seat, someone far too tall to be Alice. Well shit.

And just as I'd recognized Jazz and Edward the second time I'd seen them, just as Alice and Rose knew his face, so too did Mike freeze like a deer the second he got a good look at the tall blonde man who upon their last encounter has all but menaced him.

As if supernaturally aware of our presence, Jazz straightened up and rotated his body until he was facing us. He looked from Mike to me, his expression a combination of curious and something I did not recognize, and he took a step forward while slamming the door to the truck shut behind him.

"Well hiya!" Jazz said loudly, overly familiar, flashing his teeth at us. Mike glanced at me, brow furrowing.

As Jazz spoke the passenger door of the truck swung open and because God hated me, there was Edward. He took stock of the situation just as Jazz had, albeit in an unsurprisingly expressionless way.

"What the hell?" Mike demanded uneasily, his posture instinctively becoming defensive. "What the fuck, Bella?"

I could not freaking believe we were going to have to do this now. Five minutes. Five minutes later Jazz and Edward would already have driven off, they and Mike none the wiser about each other's existence. Fate is funny sometimes, and not in a "ha ha" funny kind of way. Jazz took another step forward, his smile frozen, and I knew then that my earlier assessment had been dead wrong.

This weekend could get _so_ much worse.

*************

**Quick note on the last chapter: I know it was a bit intense although not terribly graphic. I wanted to let you know that it's _not_ going to get much more graphic than that. There _ will_ however be similar type stuff in later chapters, so this is just a heads up. **

**Also: I know that my summary for this story is not great, but every time I try to write a more appropriate one I get too wordsy. If anyone could help me out with suggestion I'd be very grateful. And as always, I would love to hear feedback from you all. :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**EPOV**

"I know I have some twine or something," Jazz was telling me, rummaging through the dirty space between the driver's seat of his truck and the back of the cab. The chair was fine but the coffee table had slid around the truck bed for the entire short trip to take Alice home, and if we tried to drive on the 101 like that odds were good it'd go flying or at least break.

Jazz pulled out an ancient half pack of cigarettes, a roll of duct tape, and an old bent license plate. No twine. He held up the roll of duct tape and raised his eyebrow at me questioningly.

"Strip the finish off," I pointed out.

"Fuck."

Jazz went back to digging around and ran my finger along the dust on top of the dashboard. I was anxious to get the hell out of here before Bella got back; I didn't want to deal with her right now, and I especially didn't want to deal with feeling bad about her.

"We can just leave it here and come back for it later," I reasoned, sounding like I wasn't antsy as shit. "It's not like we've got the desperate need for somewhere to lay out our potpourri and family photos."

I didn't really understand why we needed a coffee table or chair at all, but Jazz had insisted. Something about hospitality. He and Alice picked them out at the Salvation Army, but when no one was around to help him haul the chair out to the truck he'd had to come back to the house and get me.

It wasn't like I was anti-furniture or anything. Had Jazz gotten this bug up his ass at any other time I would have gladly humored him. Jasper was easy to please, and something like a new place to sit would be enough to keep him content for God only knew how long. However, the fact that this idea of filling out our living room came as a direct response to Alice giving him a blow job in said living room was enough to make me less than excited at the prospect.

It was weird. Had they been curled up all post almost-coital and Alice up and said, "You know if you get a chair and a coffee table, next time I'll let you seal the deal?" And if so, why hadn't Jasper just laughed at her? I didn't get it.

Although from what he'd told me, it had been one hell of a blow job. Earlier today before he'd left to pick her up we'd been sitting on the porch and he told me all about how fantastic Alice was at what she did. Some people don't kiss and tell. Jazz was not one of those people.

Apparently Alice had an, er, technique that suited Jazz quite well. He didn't bother theorizing on how she came by such skill, but he did acknowledge that he was reaping the benefit of whatever experience she had. I was too busy trying not to speculate whether Bella had any such "technique" as a result of any similar past "experience", something I had a suspicion I would never learn firsthand. Not after last night. That boat had sailed, no question. I hated how much I wanted to know what I'd missed out on.

"This is fun," Jazz had said, smiling the way a pleased child might as he referred to Alice and her inexplicable interest in him. "I like this game. It's like shopping out of my price range. Punching out of my weight class."

There was something to that sentiment. Jazz carried no illusions about why Alice, who obviously came from money judging by her nice car and like-new clothes, might want to fool around with some broke bastard like him – "playing", he called it – and he said didn't give a fuck either. Why would he care? He was getting something out of it too, wasn't he?

Yeah, it was a peachy enough situation on its face, except if all Jazz cared about was getting his dick in some upper class piece then how come we were the not-so-proud new owners of half a living room furniture set, huh?

Fucking Bella. That shit had kept me up all night, even after I gave up and jacked off in an attempt to get her out of my head. No dice. I was too geared up to sleep. Which was why I was already up when Jazz was getting ready to go pick up his new playmate and go furniture shopping, which was why we were now contemplating stupid shit like duct taping a wooden coffee table to the bed of a truck.

"Or shit, why don't you just go ask if they've got rope or whatever?" I suggested.

When we'd come back here to drop Alice off, her blonde friend, the one who'd given me a total bitchface at the jail, had honest to God been standing on the porch waiting for her, tapping her foot and just pissed as all hell. Alice slunk up to the house as if she was in real trouble for sneaking out when she was grounded and that was just fucking strange. Jazz explained that they'd had an encounter when he came to pick Alice up, and that Alice was no doubt about to get reamed for it. That should have been a strong indicator, right there, that we were being fucking dumb even _talking_ to these girls. Not women, _girls_. We were only going to get ourselves into a shit ton of trouble. Then again, when had that ever stopped us before?

Answer? Never.

"Yeah, we-" Jazz cut himself off and tilted his head to the side, like a dog who hears something in the distance. Without warning he straightened up out of the cab and turned to look behind the truck before abruptly walking away.

I craned my neck to get a look in the rearview mirror and see what had caught Jazz's attention, and I saw Bella and some guy getting out of a car park directly behind ours. The guy looked familiar to me, and it took only about half a second to place him as the punk kid who'd been having it out with Bella that night we'd given her a ride. Without even considering it first I was getting out of the truck too, squinting into the afternoon sun to survey the scene directly.

I knew Jazz was going to haul off and wreck the kid well before it happened. Jazz just had a compulsion; man couldn't help himself. But what was I supposed to do about it? Dramatically run toward him in slow motion with my arm outstretched while yelling "Nooo!"? Come on._ I_ didn't mind, and the kid had it coming anyway. He was beyond lucky to have gotten away from Jazz untouched last time, and if all he came out of this encounter with was a busted lip or a black eye he was truly fortunate. Fuck that guy. For all I cared Jazz could bust his skull.

Jazz had his hands in his pockets, strolling toward the guy at a leisurely, casual pace. It played nicely against the way Bella's little friend was tensing and poised to do something. He probably had no idea what. Jazz extended his hand toward him.

"I don't believe I'd officially had the pleasure," Jazz practically drawled, and I didn't have to see his face to know the shit-eating grin that was there. The kid stared at Jazz's hand as if it were poisonous. Oh, if only he knew.

Jazz was such a fucking shit stirrer.

"Jazz, this is Mike," Bella made the introductions nervously. "Mike, this is Jazz... and Edward." She paused and gestured toward me, but didn't look in my direction. Hadn't looked in my direction once yet. Guess I couldn't blame her for that; I didn't particularly want to look at me either, now or any time.

Mike didn't take Jazz's hand. Everything about his posture said, "I am nervous as hell right now." The natural consequence of Jazz's eerily friendly-yet-threatening actions. Kind of the way a cat plays with a mouse before it kills the thing.

Jazz had a real way about him; a gift if you will. He could sense moods, knew how to play people the way others play instruments. If he wanted them to be comfortable, he was all charm and charisma. If he wanted them to trust him, which would be their folly, he was the most earnest and ingenuous sounding little shit I'd ever seen.

And if he wanted to scare them or piss them off, he could make that happen too.

It was Jasper's best personality trait, the one that saw him through life with a fair amount of ease given his background and financial status. It helped that he had absolutely no compunction whatsoever about lying when he had too, and was probably incapable of feeling guilty afterwards. Not like Jazz was some kind of psycho or some shit. He did what he had to, just like I did.

The trade off was Jazz's main character _flaw_, the fact that he was simply unable to pass up a chance to tear it up. It was the source of every single one of his actual convictions and most of his indictments, and inevitably it had led to a few of mine as well. A guy looking at him the wrong way or making a dick remark at a bar was enough for Jazz, but what we had here was a real opportunity for him. After all, this Mike kid had _hurt_ Bella. However annoying I knew she could definitely be at times, you never, _ever_ hurt a woman. Guys, it's different. A guy can take a few blows and get over it. Women and children, no fucking way.

Which begged the question: What the fuck was Bella doing hang out with him now? Had she really forgiven him so easily, and now all was friendly again? She'd called him her ex-boyfriend, but... I dunno. I was surprised to see them together. I knew chicks did stupid shit like that all the time, but I guess I'd thought Bella was different. Apparently not.

I felt nothing about that. Like literally, there was nothing going through my head but very mild interest as Jazz regarded Mike.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," Mike said, stepping back without taking his eyes off of Jazz's snake smile. "I'm gonna go."

That was classic. _I don't want any trouble_. Where had he gotten a line like that? Cable? Jazz burst out laughing and turned his head to look at me, amusement shining in his eyes. I grinned back because _come on._

Mike had no time to begin to wrap his head around this reaction before Jazz turned back to him and unceremoniously punched him in the face, his knuckles making nice solid contact with Mike's jaw. It was a good hit. Mike fell back a step and instinctively raised his hands in an attempt to shield himself from the second blow that came very shortly after.

"You don't want any trouble," Jazz repeated as he advanced on Mike, his tone that which a kid would use to tease another one on the playground. "I didn't realize you were so into giving people the option, _Mike."_

You know how some people insist on reading sales clerks' nametags and then using their name in the conversation when they really don't need to in order to complete the transaction? That was the way Jazz said Mike's name just then. Meanwhile Bella stood there frozen, her eyes darting back and forth between Jazz and her ex with this fearful expression.

I knew what she was going to do, maybe before she knew it. She was going to try to come to Mike's defense, to somehow get Jazz to stop wailing on that guy. Try to help out her former boyfriend or current boyfriend or whatever the fuck he was to her now. _Really._

And all I could think was how I did _not _want to see that, her defending him after what he'd done to her, and I wasn't going to give her the chance.

"Jazz," I said sharply, coming forward now to enter the arena. I grabbed Jazz by the collar and upper arm just in time to stop him from delivering another hit, and blood flew off his fist and spattered lightly on my shirt.

"The fuck?" Jazz was bewildered, understandably so.

I didn't bother respond, hauling him backwards to the passenger side so I could fling him in. Bella gave me a grateful look as we passed her, and I didn't respond to that either. Now it was me not looking at her as I slammed the passenger door and jogged around to the driver's seat. I climbed in and turned the keys in the ignition, and we were off.

"Dude," Jazz said in annoyance, rubbing over his swelling knuckles and staring at me across the cab. "_Dude._"

"Let it go," I snapped, running a stop sign and not caring. This place wasn't big enough for stop lights, none of these shithole towns around here were, and I just ignored the red octagons because odds were there wasn't going to be another moving vehicle anywhere around anyway.

Jazz didn't let it go. He kept staring at me, trying to figure out why the hell I'd done what I'd done. Finally he settled back in his seat and reached into his pocket, shaking his head.

"I kinda thought you had a thing for her," he challenged, extracting a plastic baggie from his jeans. "Guess not."

I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip on the steering wheel. He hadn't put on his seatbelt yet, and I kind of wanted to slam on the breaks just to watch him go flying into the dashboard.

Jazz's implication was clear: if I gave half a shit about Bella I would have let Jazz do his thing. In reality it was so much stupider than that, though, because Jazz was my boy. I wouldn't have needed to care about Bella to let him fuck up Mike. Hell, I didn't even give a shit all the times he was likely in the wrong. I had his back. I had no idea how or why this was different, only that I did what I had to do to stop Bella from doing something that would me really fucking unhappy.

Which didn't help, because now I was unhappy anyway, driving along the highway too slow with my hazard on so we didn't lose our coffee table.

Jazz snapped open his baggie and immediately the smell of pot filled the cab. I glanced over at him and saw him fiddling with a joint and a battered book of matches. I frowned.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"Sam."

It didn't surprise me. It also didn't surprise me that Jazz had been willing to commit the felony of beating Mike on a street corner in broad daylight while he was already _technically_ on probation and carrying drugs on his person. He wasn't stupid, he was like me – he didn't give a fuck.

"Roll down the window," I told him. "That shit stinks." Pot was not my thing. Drugs in general, really.

Jazz propped his feet on the dashboard and puffed his joint, gazing thoughtfully out the window as he exhaled smoke. His hand still had dried blood on it, and I found myself hoping to Christ that kid didn't press charges or something. He didn't know Jazz's real name or anything, but he might have gotten the plate number.

Or maybe Bella would give it to him, seeing as how they were so fucking close and all.

I was still clenching my jaw as I rolled up the drive to our place and stopped the truck more suddenly than necessarily. Jazz's legs slid forward and his feet hit the windshield, making him half fall over. I was aware of him squinting at me as I got out of the truck and went into the house, immediately making for the fridge. The furniture could wait while I had the drink I seriously needed after all that.

Jazz didn't understand a God damn thing, was the problem.

A few minutes later and Jazz still hadn't come in, and my curiosity got the better of me. I went back out onto the porch with my beer in hand...

...Just in time to see Alice's car pulling up the road with her and Bella inside.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered.

Jazz wasn't in the truck anymore, which meant he had to have gone around the side of the house to the back deck. Probably because he know I would have pitched the mother of all bitch fits if he toked up inside. He was trying to be considerate, but it meant I had to stand there looking stupid while Alice parked in the dirt patch beside the truck, sipping my beer and failing to come off as nonchalant.

"He's out back," I told Alice right away, jerking my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the path around the house.

She darted past me anxiously and I cocked my head at Bella. Why the fuck were they here? Was Alice going to chew out Jazz and, if so, was the fact that he was stoned as shit by now going to make things worse for him? I did not care – that was what the fucker got for letting himself get into some kind of dick-sucking coffee table-buying situation. I figured now was as good a time as any to get this thing with Bella over with.

"Beer?" I offered. She wrinkled her nose and I saw she wanted to decline.

"Okay."

I led the way inside and into the kitchen. After I opened a beer for Bella we sat opposite each other at the kitchen table and I worked hard not to think how she looked different now than she had yesterday. What was it? Nothing I could name. Her hair was the same and her clothes and she was shifting and fidgeting in her seat awkwardly, getting all nervous to be alone with me. Holy _hell_, I liked the fidgeting.

"Stop squirming. Say what you want to say."

"I just... well. Thank you. For helping with Mike. I really appreciate it."

I stared at her, and if this had been a cartoon my jaw would have comically hit the table or some shit because for fucking real Bella thought I hauled off Jazz as some kind of like favor to her. As some kind of demonstration of... of _something. _Shit could not be any fucking further from the truth.

"That's a little narcissistic of you, don't you think?"

Bella twirled her beer on the table, blushing. She wasn't drinking it and the bottle was beginning to get wet with condensation in the too-warm kitchen, water running down the sides and over her fingers as it left rings on the table. I was staring at it, feeling the cold moisture on my own hands, and unexpectedly I was ill.

"Can I ask you something?" Bella wanted to know, and my gaze snapped to hers.

_Here it comes._

"Why did you kiss me?"

She _would _ask me directly. I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek and propped my elbows on the table so I could lean forward and look at Bella meaningfully.

"Why did _you_ kiss _me_?" I countered.

It was a valid point. It wasn't like I'd started any of this shit – not even close. That was _all_ Bella, all the way. She was getting so flushed now, biting her lip and twirling her beer with more energy and getting condensation all over her fingertips and fuck it was getting to me in a strange, unwanted way.

My goal with my question had been to make her uncomfortable, and God knew she deserved it, but now I wanted to take it back so I wouldn't have to watch her little body squirming in that chair.

She wasn't going to answer me, and that was fine by me. I didn't need to know and I shouldn't have cared. Everyone makes mistakes, right? I had my share, and this one for sure fell into that category for both of us. Bella's eyes were on me as I pounded what was left of my beer, fixed on my throat as if she was going to lunge for my jugular. I raised my eyebrows at her as I reached over the table for her bottle, just wanting to get it out of her tiny wet hands. She released it to let me know it was mine and I slid it across the formica.

"So is Alice pissed at Jazz or what?" I asked, not bothering to be coy about changing the topic.

Now that she didn't have the bottle to hang on to, Bella's hands were in her lap where I couldn't see them. She glanced over my shoulder in the direction of the back of the house before refocusing on me.

"Why did he do it?" she wanted to know, lowering her voice like she expected someone to be listening in. Why? _Why?_

I shrugged.

"He wanted to. Jazz wants to fight, he fights." As far as I was concerned that was all the explanation she needed. Bella's forehead creased and she didn't get it. I knew Jazz told them about our arrest so I continued with my explanation, "That was why we swiped the car, to get out of there after-"

"Wait, what car?" Bella was genuinely puzzled, and that in turn confused me.

"The car we stole," I elaborated impatiently. "Because the police were on their way to break up the fight, and-"

"You _stole_ a _car_?" She was fully gaping at me now, those already wide brown eyes even more circular in her shock.

_Uh oh._ Clearly Jazz had left out a few details when he recounted the tale of our incident with Clallum County's men in blue. Or made up some details. Or outright fucking lied about the whole thing. Hell, it was impossible to know with Jasper. Sometimes he was covering his ass, and then sometimes he said shit just because it sounded nice.

I started to correct her by clarifying further that we'd really only borrowed the thing, but it didn't seem like there was a point. Damage done, and Bella was looking at me as if I'd just told her the most horrible thing in the world. It was _not_ a pleasant look to experience. The tightness in my stomach increased and grew in response to that look, and I could sense the need to say something really shitty creeping up on me.

"What the fuck do you care?" I bit out.

And there it was. I was asking about the car, but really I was asking about a lot more than that and she knew it. She must have, because right then Bella looked like she wanted to either yell at me again or cry and run away. If she did either I was praying like all hell for the latter of the two. As shitty as it sounded, that was the far better option. For both of us.

In the end Bella did neither, but she also didn't have an answer for me so really she did nothing at all. She sat in her chair wriggling and red-faced, breathing too shallow and Jesus fucking Christ for one awful, terrible fraction of a second I thought I was going to literally jump out of my chair and grab her.

"I don't know what Jazz told you," I state carefully, choosing my words one at a time.

Not about our getting arrested, or about anything else for that matter. Maybe he'd lied about other stuff too. Wouldn't exactly astonish me, put it that way. I found myself gradually mustering up the energy for my next line just before I spoke it. Was the entire rest of the conversation going to be like this? Was there going to _be_ an entire rest of the conversation after I dropped this line? I was so tight with energy, so queasy from where this had started and finished.

"We started a fight in a bar in Sequim and then we stole a car. And before you ask, yes we were drunk as shit. Like, I don't even remember getting in the car."

Her eyes bore into mine and I had no clue what she thought she'd see there. I wasn't like Jazz – I wasn't going to bother lying. I didn't lie, not out of some moral superiority or obligation to the truth but because in order to lie you have to care enough to lie and I just did not fucking care. About this or about anything. And if Bella was under the impression that Jazz and I were something else besides total shitheads, we needed to clear that misconception up _right _now.

"In Sequim?" Bella echoed me faintly, her voice so quiet that were the kitchen not otherwise dead silent it would have been tough to make out. "The bar was in Sequim, not Port Angeles? You're sure?"

I nodded, uncertain as to why that mattered. A dive bar was a dive bar, and they were all the same.

"I need to talk to Alice," Bella mumbled, bracing her hands on the table to help her get to her feet.

I didn't watch as she left the kitchen, and once I heard the back door open and shut I let my body fall forward until my forehead made contact with that nice little pool of water our beers had left on the table. Not long after that, maybe five minutes tops, a car was starting out front and I didn't bother asking myself what I'd just done to Jazz because I was too relieved that Bella and Alice were leaving.

*************

**So sorry for the delay with the cliffhanger! I hope this satisfies everyone's needs. :) To make it up to you I'm going to try to have the next chapter posted today, too, especially since now we're finally getting somewhere. My beta has promised to push me super hard to get it done. **

**Special thanks to the Gazebo: you guys all rock.**


	13. Chapter 13

**BPOV**

As I practically staggered to the back yard where I assumed Alice was still with Jazz, I could hear the blood rushing through my ears. While I didn't know exactly what to think, this much was obvious: either Edward or Jasper was a dirty liar, and instinct told me it wasn't Edward. Why would he make a story _worse_ than it really was? What purpose could that serve? No, it had to be Jazz. _Why?_

Alice and Jazz were curled up on the back deck, Alice sitting in Jazz's lap as he toyed with a strand of her hair. They were the picture of contentment and for a brief pause I considered just letting it go for now. I'd have opportunities to talk to Alice later. Why spoil the mood? Then I saw Jazz's other hand, braced against the wooden beams of the deck, and the brown dried blood there reminded me of the way he'd taken Mike down in front of our house like it was no big thing.

_Jazz wants to fight, he fights._ That was what Edward said, and as I looked at the lounging Abercrombie model before me I was seeing him in a whole new light.

"Alice, we need to go," I stated, not wanting to give anything away. Alice shielded her eyes as she looked up at me.

"Already?" she pouted, reluctant to leave. Jazz leaned into her and nuzzled her hair with his face, and if I didn't know he was a dirty lying car thief I would have thought he was the sweetest boyfriend Alice could possibly ask for.

"I just remembered, I have a... thing I need to do," I said lamely, glancing toward the front of the house where the car was parked. Yeah, that was believable. _I guess some people are better liars than others. _

Alice sighed melodramatically and heaved herself up to her feet. Jazz raised his arm for her to rest her weight on, reminding me of the way a male ballerina holds the female one's hand so she can pirouette. Alice bent down and I was forced to bear witness to a disgustingly adorable display of goodbye kissing.

"Later Bella," Jazz murmured, smiling up at me pleasantly with heavily lidded eyes. I fought the urge to call him a fraud to his face, instead giving him the most half-hearted wave in existence as Alice and I stepped around the house to get back to her car.

"You're gonna have to drive," she told me, shoving her keys into my hands and making for the passenger side door. I stared after her. The red eyes, the clumsy movements, the way she and Jazz had seemed so unconcerned with life...

"Are you _high_?" I asked incredulously as we got into the car.

Alice's only answer was a giggle that said everything it needed to. Great, so in addition to being a dishonest fight-monger and a car thief who irresponsibly commits DUIs, Jazz was also giving my housemate drugs. I liked him less and less by the second.

"Look, Alice, there's something you have to know," I started. I could have waited until she wasn't stoned anymore, but in my rush to get my thoughts out of my head and that meant sharing them with another person. "I think Jazz lied to us about some stuff."

"Wait, what?" Alice gave me a funny look, and I took a deep breath.

As clearly as possible, I explained that while Jazz had told us they'd gotten drunk and been in a "scuffle", Edward freely admitted that they'd essentially started a bar fight and stolen a car. Furthermore, while Jazz had "confessed" to us that he'd accidentally taken us to the bar where they'd had the fight, in fact that wasn't true either. That had been a different bar in an entirely different town, meaning they'd been thrown out of _at least _two establishments. And honestly, when I coupled that with the fact that Jazz hadn't given it a moment's thought before punching Mike, it freaked me out. _Jazz wants to fight, he fights._ How many fights were we talking about here?And what else had he lied about?

This whole time I'd been thinking Jazz was the normal one, that he was the nice affable guy who made some poor life choices and had a strange brooding asshole for a best friend. I was such a sucker.

"I dunno..." Alice said when I was finished. "I mean... I guess... Shit I am so stoned." She grinned stupidly and shook her head before trying again. "Maybe it's not such a big deal? I mean, yeah, it _is_ a big deal, I guess, but I can also understand why he did it. Like we'd just met him, you know, Bella? And it was none of our business and he didn't want us like hating him or anything..."

She was trying to justify Jazz's actions, to excuse what he'd done. I pursed my lips disapprovingly.

"Aren't you _mad_ at him?" I wanted to know. _I_ was, and I thought she should be too. Even if Jazz wasn't a bad guy, he was still a liar. And he wasn't a stranger now, and he should have told us the truth. Especially about something so serious. Auto theft was a really serious crime and so was driving under the influence.

"Yeah I mean I guess I... uhm... No, not really..." Alice drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, her eyes glazing over in reflection.

It couldn't just be me, could it? I really felt like this was a big deal and Alice... didn't. Was it just because she was high? Maybe I should have waited. Damn it, I should have waited.

By the time we got home Alice had already moved on for the time being. She didn't even remember that I'd told her I had somewhere to be, which was convenient because it meant that while she was in the kitchen making both a giant pot of pasta and a chocolate cake I could hide out in my room and ruminate over this in peace.

We didn't talk about it the rest of the day either, or again on Monday when we drove to campus for class. I tried to bring it up but Alice interrupted me with the surprisingly terse suggestion that I "drop it," which I had. I didn't see why she was mad at _me_. What had I done wrong?_ I_ wasn't the lying criminal here, and I'd only been trying to help.

Another wholly unforeseen development was Rosalie. She'd been trying to have it out with Alice over Jazz when I helped Mike into the house to wash the blood off of his face after Jazz did a number on him. While he was in the bathroom cleaning up and making sure nothing was broken, Rose cornered me in the kitchen and demanded to know what had happened. I was still in shock and I gave a babbled, rambling tale of how Jazz had started to beat the crud of out of Mike before Edward grabbed him and pulled him off.

I'd expected Rosalie to be disgusted, to tell Alice that Jazz and Edward were never welcome back in our place again. I _expected_ her to give us the lecture of a lifetime over the company we'd been choosing to keep. What she _actually_ did was march into the bathroom and tell Mike to get the hell out, that he could lick his wounds at his own place. She also basically threatened him, telling him that if he so much as considered pressing charges against Jazz for what he'd done, then I in turn would press charges again _him_. After he was gone Alice insisted that we go to Edward and Jazz's, and that had been that.

Needless to say, with Alice, Rosalie, and Emmett all on Team Jazz, I was outnumbered and it was quite tough for me to maintain my indignation for very long. This became more the case after Jazz called Alice on Tuesday and apologized profusely when he really didn't need to. He promised Alice that he hadn't meant cause problems and that in glossing over the truth he's merely been trying to spare us the unpleasantly details.

I sat in the corner of Alice's room, listening in with my arms folded over my chest, the occasional "harrumph" escaping before I could stop it. Sparing us, eh? More like sparing _himself_. Alice assured him that she understood and that if he swore not to do it again then they could just forget about it. Alice's complacency over the whole thing did not sit well with me, and I told her so once she ended the call.

"How do you know he's not going to do it again?" I needed to ask. "How do you know he wasn't lying right then? We don't really know anything about either of them, Alice. We don't know what kind of thing-"

"Enough!"

I would not previously have thought someone as tiny as Alice was capable of producing such a powerful voice. I clamped my jaw shut and gaped at Alice, who for the only time in all the time I'd known her actually looked _mad_. At _me._

"You don't even know what the hell you're talking about," Alice went on energetically. "It's none of your business whether I believe Jazz or want to keep seeing him! I swear to God Bella, sometimes you can be so... so... _judgmental!_"

Me? _I_ was judgmental?

I frowned and rubbed my upper arm uncomfortably. That wasn't true, was it? After all, I'd given Edward the benefit of the doubt when we'd gone to return his sweatshirt, and I didn't have to do that. I considered myself to be a fairly open-minded individual. I voted Democrat for pete's sake, and I _would _have voted Green Party except my dad always said voting for a third party was like wasting your vote. I was pro-choice. I was a staunch advocate for gay marriage. What was Alice _talking_ about?

I didn't like that at all. The idea that I was somehow partially in the wrong here, that my actions had been less than altruistic, was so uncomfortable for me to contemplate. I'd never seen myself that way, and that Alice did was disconcerting. It was totally at odds with my own self image. Like okay, I wasn't beautiful and I wasn't coordinated. I had zero artistic talent and I was a mediocre cook, but at least I was relatively intelligent and empathetic. Right? I was nice, damn it! I was a nice person!

"And just so you know, Bella, they don't really know all that much about _us_ either. Did you ever think of it that way?"

_Well, no, but..._

"But that's different," I protested. "You and I don't have criminal records. We're good peo-"

"Jasper is a good person, too! He hit Mike because Mike hurt you, and Jazz has never done anything wrong to you! And if you're going to keep being so self-righteous, you can just... get out of my room!"

Alice had abandoned anger in favor of straight-up hurt, and she began shoving me toward her bedroom door as tears brimmed in her eyes. I was too stunned to protest when she shut the door in my face, and it was only once I heard the lock click that I burst into tears of my own.

I was crying because... because Alice was kind of right, wasn't she? Damn it, she was totally right. I'd been ready to differentiate between them and us by calling us "good people," and that wasn't fair at all. In fact, that wasn't the kind of thought that a good person would ever have. That had been appalling of me, and no wonder Alice was upset.

My dad would be so disappointed in me if he'd heard me right then. He was all about giving people the chance to prove themselves, to hold back before forming a concrete opinion of someone's character. It was a big part of what made him such a great policeman. He might even have said something about casting the first stone, because although my dad was no Bible scholar he was a big fan of a lot of what it had to say regarding treating others how you wanted to be treated.

And it _was_ true that Jazz hadn't done a damn thing to me _or _Alice. Had I been making a big deal out of nothing? Was it not my concern whether Alice wanted to keep seeing him? She was my best friend, so it felt like it should be, but then Alice had already made it clear who she was picking when it came to this issue.

By the time I sat on my bed and hugged my battered stuffed bunny to my chest, I was bawling. I couldn't get over how Alice had all but yelled at me, and how I felt like a huge jerk, and that was upsetting the crap out of me. Like how much outside of my own little bubble was I missing?

With that my mind went directly to Edward. I didn't get _him_ at all, but I could be fairly sure he was not a liar. Even when he was being a jerk Edward was always totally straightforward with me, and that was kind... admirable. I could admire that about Edward. He'd told me the truth instead of trying to cover for his friend, and whatever he said about it I was impressed by how he'd done the right thing separating Jazz from Mike before someone (no question it would have been Mike) got seriously injured.

Talking to Edward in their kitchen had been awkward and, toward the end, mildly stressful, but I'd still wanted to be there. I still wanted _Edward_, and in a strange way now that Jazz seemed a little less perfect, Edward had risen in my esteem. The way he'd flatly told me about the bad thing he and Jazz had done, it was almost as though he was _trying _to scare me off. I pondered whether there could be any truth to that. Maybe Edward thought girls like Alice and I should stay away from guys like him and Jazz, and that was his way of going about it?

I sat up on my bed and dried my eyes, more than a tad disgusted with myself for how big a crybaby I seemed to have become over the past few weeks. My determination was renewed and my mind was set; just because Edward and Jazz were different from what I knew, just because they had some tendencies that were less than thrilling to learn about, did not mean they didn't deserve consideration. I was thinking more specifically of Edward, sitting across from me at his kitchen table with his intense green eyes bring into mine. Like he'd been challenging me.

_Challenge accepted. _

I timidly knocked on Alice's door, and when she opened it there was much hugging amid rushes of apology and forgiveness. Fighting with my best friend on top of everything else had been horrible, and I was so relieved it had last maybe four hours at most. We both swore not to let it happen again. When we'd both calmed down I asked Alice when she was going to see Jazz again, and she told me she planned to meet him after she got out of class tomorrow, and that they would be going back to his place to hang out and listen to music. She agreed to let me come along, and all was tentatively right again.

Not perfect, not settled, but once again back on track. Less like a train and more like a roller coaster ride, but even roller coasters have a set path. The wild unpredictability was what made it so exciting. If nothing else, I'd not had a whole lot of excitement of the magnitude Edward potentially offered. Just talking to him could make me stupidly giddy and kissing him carried ten times the electricity of sleeping with Mike. He'd lived a semi-dangerous life and he had offered me his sweatshirt twice now and I had real optimism that night as I went to bed.

I may or may not have fallen asleep to the permanently engrained images of Edward tilting his head back as he drank his beer, his adam's apple bobbing with each swallow and the muscles in his arm tensed in a flex. And when he'd stared directly into my eyes as he'd asked me why I'd kissed him, his voice lower than normal. And the kiss; let's not forget the kiss. I was hanging onto that one with the desperate hope that I'd have new memories to add to it soon.

I was shamelessly anxious during the day Wednesday, tapping my feet in class and smacking the end of my pen on my notebook over and over again until the guy sitting behind me asked me to knock it off. As soon as I was done with lectures for the afternoon I bolted directly for Alice's car, beating her there by six minutes and checking my cell phone clock the entire time. Alice rolled her eyes when she saw me, but she was smiling too.

We decided there was no reason to go back to the house first, so Alice drove directly to Edward and Jazz's. By now it had become some semblance of routine: we showed up, Alice and Jazz went off on their own, and that left me with Edward. I didn't mind and sort of counting on it. It would give me time to "work on" Edward, as I'd been mentally referring to it. If Alice was right, he was interested in me. And if _my _theory was right, I just needed to show him that I didn't care about past slips of character.

It was a good plan. In theory, anyway. In reality, as soon as Edward and I were alone on the back deck I could think of nothing to say, had no words other than the standard "hi how are ya?" To make matters worse, Edward did not come across as particularly delighted to be in my company. More like he was barely tolerating it. Immediately the self doubt began to creep up again, and all my determination from the night before and earlier today slowly evaporated with each passing second that Edward all but ignored me.

He was sipping a beer, like always, and I found myself wanting to know how much Edward drank on a given day. Actually, when I thought about it, I'd only ever really seen him once when he _wasn't_ drinking or drunk and that was when he and Jazz had given me the ride. There was nothing wrong with a legal adult enjoying the occasional alcoholic beverage but-

Augh, there I was again, being judgmental. _Don't jump to conclusions, Bella. After all, Rosalie has at least one beer most nights._ That was true, and so had my dad. Hell, on weekends when he and Billy went fishing they'd fill up an entire cooler. Just because I personally was not a fan did not meant Edward couldn't responsibly have a few drinks.

_Until he gets behind the wheel of a car._

"How are you?" I inquired politely. Edward rolled his head on his neck.

"Alright I guess." He didn't ask me how I was.

"Sorry we left so suddenly the other day," I told him. Instantly I cringed.

_Don't say you're sorry. Alright? It makes it worse and I don't want to hear it._

Did he mean about anything? Ever? It had been at mere seconds and already I was screwing up. I bit my lip and looked away, waiting for Edward to tell me off. When he said nothing I looked up at him and he was staring me with an expression that dried out my throat and elevated my heart rate. The eye contact was too much for me and I broke it off in favor of examining my shoe laces.

As we sat in silence Edward reached his hand under his shirt and scratched idly at his stomach. The action reminded me of his tattoo, the weird sprawling dead tree design, and I decided to ask him about it. Hey, conversation was conversation, and I had nothing else.

"I like your tattoo," I hedged, making sure to smile after I said it. Edward regarded me with his head tilted in that strange way he had. Like he was studying me.

"Thanks."

Okay, see, we were getting somewhere. Encouraged, I pressed on.

"Does it have any, uhm, special meaning?"

Natural progression. I had no tattoos, nor was I planning on getting one any time soon. They had to hurt like absolute hell. Oo, that was another good follow up question: whether or not it had hurt, and if so how much. See? We could totally do this, we could. Edward ran his tongue back and forth along his upper lip, contemplating, and I was entranced by his wonderful mouth

"Nothing special," he said finally, leaving it at that.

The way he said it made me not believe him, not with how long it had taken him to come up with an answer. Besides, the tree was huge if I recalled correctly – big enough to cover a good portion of the back and side of his torso. What little I knew of tattoos told me that had to have taken a good long while and, yeah, it had probably hurt like hell. It wasn't some butterfly tramp stamp on his lower back or barbed wire around his bicep. A tattoo like that was unique and we were talking full on expansive coverage. No one gets a tattoo like that on a whim.

"Emmett's got a tattoo of a rose," I offered, clarifying, "Rose is our housemate that you met and Emmett is her boyfriend. He got it on his wrist."

Edward snorted, "I guess that'll be easier to deal with than her actual name when they break up."

It was cynical but funny, and I grinned. So did Edward, smiling around the lip of his beer as he took a sip. I swallowed at the same time he did, watching his adam's apple, and I pulled out my reserve question.

"Did it hurt? When you got yours I mean." I was now officially out of follow ups, and I had to hope Edward's reply would give me something else to work with.

"Like a bitch."

_Damn._

"Well, uh... how long did it take?"

I was two steps away from something lame like "So what's your favorite color?" Did Edward not understand the rules of casual banter?

"Dunno. Hours. I had to go back a few times."

"Wow." Aaand I was out of ideas.

_Suck it up Bella. Be direct. You're just beating around the bush here. _Hell, who was I kidding? I could never do subtle anyway.

"So, that whole thing with the car and all... Do you and Jazz, uh, do that kind of thing often?"

Edward shrugged. "Sometimes. Jazz likes to shit stir."

Ah.

"And what about you?" I wanted to know. After all, Edward had been in that bar too, right? It wasn't fair to place all the blame on his friend.

"If you want to know my rap sheet, Bella, I'm pretty sure that kind of thing is a matter of public record," he said sweetly, a bite to his tone.

"That's not what I was asking," I protested, feeling defensive. Now was my chance to explain to Edward that I could be open-minded, that I could give him the benefit of the doubt. "I know you have an, uhm, past..."

"Past?"

Edward let his head fall back, and it was the first time he'd ever laughed at something I'd said. It was not the same kind of laugh he gave to Jazz when Jazz made a joke, not even close. He narrowed his eyes.

"What makes you think it's the past? Hell, Jazz beat someone up _yesterday._ We could steal a car _tomorrow._"

I flinched but didn't back down.

"Quit making yourself sound worse than you are," I told him, making my voice serious in an effort to sound mature and capable. "I think you're a good person and you're not going to be able to just scare me away for my own good."

Edward's beautiful green eyes flared briefly. His intense gaze bore into mine and I was struck by how often I truly had no idea what Edward was going to do next. This was absolutely one of those times, and it had not gotten even slightly less unsettling with time. All I could do was look back at him with wide eyes of my own.

"You," he said slowly, pointing a finger in my face. "Have got. To be. Fucking _kidding _me."

"I'm not kidding," I insisted stubbornly, though common sense should have dictated that I shut up already. "I know I don't understand because I'm not aware of things like your upbringing but-"

Edward smacked his bottle down on the deck with a solid thud and his face hardened. He was debating something and I held my breath, waiting to find out what decision he would make about whatever it was. Finally he turned to me with and half-smirk playing on his lips, not reaching his eyes.

"Do you want to hear about the tattoo? Why I got it?" he asked me, the way a parent addresses a child.

"Okay..."

Edward stretched his legs out behind him and got comfortable, bracing his palms on the deck behind him to sprawl out. I was filled with anticipation, restless to know where this was going. Edward didn't look at me as he began his story.

"Okay. So this goes back to when I was – shit, I dunno. How old are babies when they first learn to walk and talk do you think, Bella? Two? Three?"

"Little younger, I think," I replied, mystified. Edward nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Alright let's say it's two," he agreed faux-pleasantly. "So when I was two years old we lived in this apartment building in Pullman, which is on the south side. And I had this neighbor who used to help look after me sometimes until we got evicted and had to move, right? She lived across the hall from us and I guess was kind of worried about me so she was always inviting my mom to leave me there for a few hours while my mom did whatever the fuck she did all day."

He paused then and finished the rest of his beer before continuing.

"I don't remember any of this, by the way. This is all something I heard during one of my sentencing hearings when this woman came out to like testify on my behalf, if you can believe it. I don't even know how the fuck she knew I got indicted. Maybe she saw it in the paper or something. Anyway, so I was just learning to walk and talk and she'd let me wander around her living room while she knitted and watched soaps. And sometimes I'd come up to her crying after I'd scraped my knee or something and I'd be like 'Ouch, Mommy, stop!'"

"To her?" I interrupted, confused. Which woman were we talking about again, the neighbor or his mom? I was lost. Edward grunted impatiently.

"Yeah, to her. Can I talk?" he asked facetiously.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumbled, my face heating.

"Yeah." Edward said blandly. "Like I'd bump into her coffee table or whatever – I don't know, toddlers are clumsy as hell – and whenever I got hurt it was always like that. 'Stop it Mommy,' 'Don't,' 'Please, Mommy,' 'Sorry,' you get the idea, right?"

"I get the idea." I was baffled.

"I can see you _don't_ get it, Bella. And neither did this neighbor lady, until one day she's at my apartment trying to convince my mom to let her have me for the day. My mom's in this foul mood and tells her she doesn't want me going over there anymore, that the neighbor's probably doing weird shit to me or something. Okay. And then I guess I start crying, because I _liked_ it over there and I _wanted_ to go, and that pisses my mom off. So she goes to lift her hand, to burn me with her cigarette actually, and I know because she did that a lot among other shit, and _immediately_, like before she even touches me, I start up. 'Sorry Mommy, please don't...'"

Edward was breathing harder now, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he clenched and unclenched it between sentences. His narrative had steadily grown in volume and hardness. I gaped at him openly, horrified as I gradually began to grasp the implications of what Edward was telling me right then. He didn't leave me to figure it out on my own.

"Basically, _basically_, in my stupid little toddler brain when I was learning what words meant, I'd somehow come to associate getting hurt with pissing my mom off. I was _two_, Bella."

When we'd first begun talking this afternoon it has seemed like I had nothing to say, just because my attempts at getting a discussion going were so pitifully awkward and forced. That was nothing. That was me being socially inept. This. _This_ was a situation in which there were literally no words on the planet that I could say. I was speechless.

"And when I was in prison for it doesn't matter what for, I was in _prison,_ one of the other guys on my cell block decided to make like a tattoo gun, you know, out of some ballpoint pens and a tape deck from the commissary. You probably don't know what that is. It's like a little store in the prison you can buy shit at. And fuck, there was nothing else to do anyway but stupid stunts like that. And he gave himself basically the ugliest fucking tattoo I have ever seen. It was a little spade, like off of a playing card. And when he got out and had the cash he got something else to cover it up and that was that. Fuck, why am I even telling you this? I shouldn't be fucking tell you this."

He was getting frenetic now, tugging his hair with his fingers and cursing even more than usual in his upset.

"It gave me this idea though. My skin's kind of fucked up – don't act like you didn't notice, Bella, because you sure fucking did – and it's fucking hideous. Right? Yeah, it is. So when _I _got out I got this contracting job through the halfway house and I saved up and I went and got mine done at a real parlor because fuck that prison shit, that's so fucking unsanitary and I wasn't gonna get Hep C."

Edward sat up now, leaning forward over his knees as he peeled his shirt over his head. I watched the muscles dancing under the skin of his back in fascination. He had _such_ a hot body. It did funny things to my insides watching him remove his shirt like that, his arms over his head and his chest rock hard. Perfect, really, in terms of fitness and just the right amount of sparse hair trailing below his navel. He balled up his shirt in his lap and pushed the waist of his jeans down a tantalizing few inches before he twisted his torso, displaying the massive tattoo that I'd vividly remembered and been including in my daydreams for a few weeks now.

"If you look," Edward explained, his voice strained from his position and the way he'd been breathing shallower and shallower over the past several minutes, "you can see how some of the branches and roots are really weird angles, because the guy was doing his best to cover everything he could. Wasn't very successful, was it?"

_Oh my God._

His bitterness was both unmistakable and totally understandable. After all, Edward was right; there we still many marks and scars that the tattoo artist had not managed to conceal. Even the ones underneath the solid black ink were visible if I examined closely enough. Now I knew what the tiny circular scars were from, and my chest was growing tight and burning. I had dared to make a comment about his _upbringing?_

I reached out to run my hand along one particularly fat scar within the trunk of the tree, wondering what had caused it, but the instant my fingertips made contact with Edward's skin he jerked away and aligned his body again. He was seething as he uncrumpled his t-shirt and pulled it over his head with shaking hands.

"Fuck," he spat, possibly to himself. "You... you have no... _fuck_."

His chest was heaving and he was blinking slowly, alternately squeezing his eyes shut and looking out into nothing. I quickly turned away again, gazing across the wooded area that spread behind the house. I was really scared that Edward was going to have some kind of episode or something while Alice and Jazz were inside doing their thing, and I wasn't going to be able to effectively deal with it. Had I started this? Was it going to be my fault? Shit, what should I do?

"How much of this land does Jazz own?" I blurted out, saying the very first thing that came to mind.

Silence, except for Edward's gradually steadying breathing.

"Ten acres, but there's no fence for most of it so we have no fucking clue what's his. We never go out there anyway. Probably get eaten by something."

"The mountain lions don't generally come this close to the highway," I assured him feebly. "And I don't think there are any bears left in this area. It's most just deer and raccoons."

"Mm." Edward was chewing his thumbnail, frowning at the wilderness. "I, uh. I. I'm gonna get a beer. Beer?"

"Sure."

When he got to his feet and went inside I closed my eyes, attempting to rid my brain of what I'd just seen and heard while simultaneously fitting several new pieces into my Edward jigsaw puzzle. All of a sudden I grasped what I had wholly failed to see before: There were a lot of things I didn't know or understand about life. Hell, I didn't know _anything._ I'd been living in this happy little fantasy land where people like Edward and the things that had happened to him weren't real_._ They were case studies in my Intro to Psych textbook, or news articles on or repeats of Law and Order: SVU every afternoon.

Edward was not an episode of Law and Order. He was a _real person_ who had real, _horrible_ things happen to him and I was quite possibly the biggest jackass in the whole world.

*************

**Eh? Eh? For the love of God people let me know.**

**No but seriously thank you so much for still reading this. I am amazed and grateful. **


	14. Chapter 14

**EPOV**

Mrs. Clearwater was getting to be a real problem for me.

Her roof still needed a lot of work; more than I was going to be able to accomplish in one day no matter how hard I busted my ass. I dragged my ass out of bed at seven in the morning on Saturday to get their early and get started on it, but I knew right away that I wouldn't be able to finish before the sun went down. That put me in a shitty mood, this really awful way to start my day. Not my weekend, since when you haven't got a job you don't really get weekends, but no one wants to be confronted with a pain in the ass before it's late enough in the day for them to justify drinking.

And then Mrs. Clearwater insisted that I come inside and have breakfast.

She was making bacon and scrambled eggs, she let me know, and did I want orange juice or milk with my meal? I cringed. No fucking way was I going to eat some animal that had been pumped full of hormones and other crazy shit until its unsanitary death, at which point it was injected with salt water and chemicals before being shrink wrapped and sitting on a freezer shelf for I didn't want to think about how long. I accepted eggs and juice and worked at making myself invisible as I hunched over my plate at her nice little table.

Her kids were there too, Leah and the other one who I'd never seen before. I heard Mrs. Clearwater calling him Seth, and I placed him at maybe fifteen or so. I tried not to look at any of them, like it was ridiculous how uncomfortable I felt intruding on this happy little family scene. A couple times I thought about it while swallowing and gagged, but nothing came back up.

"I'm going to Embry's," the boy said, getting to his feet and dropping his plate in the sink with half the food still on it. "Later."

"Not without cleaning your room you're not," Mrs. Clearwater said sharply, and she was already making for the sink to wash his dish for him.

I closed my eyes and forced the food currently in my mouth down my throat. It was that or spit it back onto my plate, and I was pretty sure that would be a slap in the face of hospitality.

"I'll do it later." The kid was halfway out the door, being all flippant. I gripped my fork tighter.

I wanted to snap at him. Tell him he was being a little shit and to sit his ass back down and finish his fucking breakfast, and then go clean his God damn room. His mom didn't even look like she was really upset. He had no idea how lucky he was; how good he had it. Spoiled kid ought to clean the whole damn house. Hell, he should have gotten up on the roof and fixed it for his perfect mom months ago instead of leaving it for someone else.

I was not one of those people who are just "meant" to have children.

Everything was in the garage exactly how I'd put it before locking up last weekend, so I pick up where I left off and silently cursed the way I had over-committed myself on this one. I was going to need to come back again tomorrow, or next Saturday. Or, really, whenever. It wasn't like I had any other obligations I needed to take care of first and reroofing was at least productive. I had a chance to accomplish something and not be so worthless for a change.

Hands down worst gig I ever had: digging ditches. It's exactly what it sounds like, only those two words could never hope to fully express what a truly shitty job it is. Working outdoors all day in the blistering heat, worse for me because I didn't take off my shirt like most of the other guys. Dirt and grit _everywhere_, all over your body and in your eyes and your teeth, chapped-until-they're-bleeding-hands and from the shovel because the gloves aren't enough, peeling layers of dead skin in sheets off your neck when you get home.

Yeah, I'd lasted about a week and a half. I could mentally bitch to myself all I wanted about fixing Mrs. Clearwater's roof, but thank Christ Sam hadn't decided the reservation needed a new drainage ditch.

The upside was that Mrs. Clearwater was spending the day at her neighbor's house so I didn't have to worry about her forcing a second meal on me. Again she assured me that the house was open and that I could "come on in" for whatever I needed, and again I fought the desire to explain to her just how poor a decision that was.

The downside was that, well, I was re-shingling a fucking roof. Roofing has got to be one of the most repetitive, mechanical jobs ever. Truly, it sucks, and if we were in a nicer climate I'd come away from it with one hell of a sunburn, too. Not to mention I was alone with up there, and while I was working I couldn't get drunk, and that meant I had no other option but to think.

I thought about Bella.

Man, I had been failing at avoiding that for days now ever since our stint on the back porch when I'd probably scared the piss out of her, this time without even trying. When Alice came back on Friday to see Jazz, Bella wasn't with her. Then Jazz went with her to spend the night at her place, leaving me the truck. Naturally I'd gotten blitzed out of my mind and fallen asleep early, so now on top of everything else I got to fight this fledgling hangover while I imagined and re-imagined Bella's face when I'd pulled my little stunt with the tattoo.

Pity: one of the most useless feelings a human being is capable of, and Bella had been filled with it the entire rest of the afternoon as we sat on the back patio to give Alice and Jazz some privacy to talk further redecoration plans. She kept glancing at my torso, trying to see my tattoo through my t-shirt. I had no idea why I'd done what I did. Seriously no fucking clue, except at the time I'd been justifying it to myself like "well she's already seen it once so it can't get any worse than that."

Except before she'd just been horrified, and while that was tough to swallow it wasn't anything new for me. Turning her pitying eyes on me, making me into this injured kitten or something, that was too many kinds of uncomfortable to deal with. I was a grown man for Christ's sake, and I had gotten this far without someone thinking, "Oh, gee, poor Edward." The knowledge that I'd been pissed off enough at her mentioning my childhood to bring this on myself only exacerbated the feeling of disgust welling within me.

Over and over again I'd hold a nail in place and hammer it in with one excessively forceful blow, running the real risk at times of punching a hole in the roof. I had to pause and take a breather, go down to the yard for the hose to drink and rinse off because I couldn't bring myself to want to be in the house whether it was occupied or not.

Thinking that I wanted to keep her away from me for her own good was so _stupid_. That didn't even make _sense_. That was some kind of fucked up altruistic paperback romance bullshit that Bella should learn sooner rather than later didn't exist in real life. She wasn't being logical. For one thing, she had no idea, I mean _no_ idea how badly I wanted to fuck her already. How readily I would have last weekend, which did not seem long enough ago. If I was trying to push her away, and yeah I kinda was, it had nothing to do with looking out for her and everything to do with looking out for myself.

I had enough problems without Bella willingly chucking herself into the mix. I hated the way she made me want to tell her shit as if I had something to prove to her when I had nothing to prove to anyone. And sure as shit wasn't looking out for anyone but myself, either.

Jazz showed up around noon, and I heard him clambering up the ladder before I saw him. He leaned over the rain gutters to rest his forearms on the roof the same way Leah Clearwater had done and grinned over at me as he gave his greeting.

"You look like shit, man."

I was sure it was true. I'd drunk till I passed out and dragged my ass down here to La Push way too early, and I'd spent the better part of five hours now wielding a hammer with force more appropriate to a sledgehammer.

"Piss off."

Jazz laughed. He reached down into his pocket and brought up something that caught the sunlight and glinted brightly. A metal flask. Jazz tossed it to me and I tossed the hammer, catching it with my off hand in order to catch the flask.

"Whiskey?" I asked, unscrewing the cap to sniff the flask's contents. "I'm up here busting my ass on an almost empty stomach and you're giving me hard liquor?" I grinned.

Jasper shrugged. "Thought flowers'd be too forward."

I slid the container into my back pocket and resumed working.

"So why aren't you playing grease monkey?" I wanted to know. "Don't tell me Jake managed to get that piece of shit running."

"Christ no. That engine's never gonna turn over."

Jazz smiled again. He was in a great mood – more than likely it had to do with where he'd spent the night last night. "His sisters are visiting so they're doing like this family thing. Holy shit Edward, you would not believe. Twins, and sweet pieces. Don't even tell me you haven't had that fantasy."

I hadn't, but I understood it was a popular one.

"Anyway, I was clearing out under the Calls's porch but then Sam figured I might as well come help you. I gotta warn you though, man, I know fuck-all about roofing. Where's the missus?"

"Not home."

"Ah." Jasper made no move to get on the roof yet, his eyes on my hands as I slammed another nail into place. "Well that's good right?" he asked cautiously.

Jazz got how I was. I didn't have to spell it out for him in order for him to guess that I might not jump at the chance to spend time in Mrs. Clearwater's presence. That I might, and _did_, go out of my way to avoid women when I wasn't screwing them. In Chi-town Jazz'd been seeing this chick Maria for a while, and after two months she'd asked Jazz if I was mute because I'd never said a single word to her.

"She's for real June Cleaver," I told Jazz.

"Oh yeah?" Jazz propped his chin on his hands to facilitate watching me.

"Practically lives in that kitchen. Oh and plus? She keeps leaving the house unlocked for me. Tells me to help myself to whatever, like the bathroom and stuff."

"Man, wish I'd known that before I pissed in her bushes."

Jazz was grinning at me as he said it and I didn't doubt him for a second.

He was also telling the truth when he claimed to know jack shit about roofing. It wasn't what you'd call brain intensive work, but for all Jazz's automotive expertise he was amazingly inept with a hammer. After smashing his thumb a few times he gave up in favor of telling me about Alice as he sprawling out on the slant of the roof with his arms behind his head.

"She has got the _nicest_ sheets," he informed me. "Like, really nice, like you'd find in a hotel room or something probably. She told me it was something about the thread count? And like they were from Egypt? Fuck I don't remember but I have _got_ to get me some."

"Thought you just got some," I pointed out absently, focused on my work, and Jazz snorted.

"Yeah, alright. Ha ha."

I almost ask him how it was, just because it had been so God damn long for me that I didn't quite remember myself. I decided that was over the line, though, and more importantly maybe I didn't want to be reminded of what I was missing. Knowing Jazz he's tell me all about it unsolicited. When he was drunk Jazz could get so graphic in recounting his exploits that he'd stop just short of drawing you a diagram. One time he _had_ drawn me a diagram, using a cocktail napkin and Keno pencil to illustrate a particularly complicated sexual position.

Then again, Jazz had grown strangely vague on the topic of Alice's prowess over the past week. I didn't know why but I supposed it might have something to do with the way she and Bella had suddenly taken off on Sunday. Monday night Jazz drove into town to call her and stayed gone for over an hour, and since then there hadn't been another word about her "technique". Easy to see he was thinking about her, considering how much time he spent with his ass parked in that chair and his feet propped up on the coffee table. I knew all about her bedding but not what she did in it.

I should've been happy for him, right? It's not every day your friend finds a girl who has Egyptian or whatever the fuck they were sheets and acts like he's just the coolest son of a bitch on the planet. Not to mention Alice acted like she gave a damn about Jazz too, and he deserved that. It was more than I could say for any of the other women he'd dated since I'd known him, including Maria of "is he mute" renown.

It hit me funny, was the thing. The way Jazz looked so damn _pleased_, even for Jazz, it was just kind of I don't know what it was exactly but it left me feeling off. The more he talked today and the happier he sounded the more I began to get this foreign sensation I couldn't peg. I was missing something or something wasn't there or I don't even know except I wanted to figure out what the hell it was so I could get.

"Oh!" Jazz snapped his fingers suddenly as he interrupted his own narrative. He rolled his head to the side and shielded his eyes in order to look at me. "Forgot to tell you. They're going to this thing at the college, like an outdoor mixer, and you and I are gonna come along. That's cool, right?"

A party? When had Jazz gotten so _social_? I grimaced.

"You want us to show up at some kegger?" I asked dubiously. Was he even thinking this through? A bunch of upper middle class kids using Mommy and Daddy's money to buy cheap beer and get blitzed while they talked about pretentious shit and dead guys whose names I couldn't pronounce? Yeah, Jazz and I would _right_ in. Seamlessly.

"Bella will be there," Jazz said then, and he was watching my face for some kind of reaction that I wasn't going to give him if I could help it.

"Good for her," I retorted immaturely, smacking a roofing nail too hard at the wrong angle and bending it. I plucked it out and flicked it off the roof onto the patchy lawn before grabbing a new one.

"She was asking about you last night," Jazz went on. He was going to keep goading me until he got what he was looking for, of that much I was sure. He knew a raw spot when he saw one, and of course he'd want to pick at it.

"Maybe she'll pass me a note during math class," I suggested sarcastically. I bent another roofing nail and tossed it impatiently as I replied.

"Sounded to me like she did a little more than pass a note."

"Shit."

Jazz met my stare with total ingenuousness, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his elbow to hold it up. So he knew, then. Alice must've told Jazz that Bella and I'd kissed because chicks tell each other every little God damn thing and Alice repeated it to Jazz. What cozy pillow talk for the two of them to have had on those fancy sheets. What else about me had gotten back to Jazz via Bella telling Alice? How pissed off would I be if I knew?

"So what's the story Edward? You hot for Bella? Yes? No?"

"No."

Yes. Fuck yes. Jazz had no idea how much yes. My mind had gotten disgustingly explicit about it too, these real specific snap shot images of the weird kind of shit I wanted to do to her. That morning when I'd beat off I'd been thinking about, among other things, laying her down on her stomach and licking all the way along her spine and that flawless skin. Running my tongue all over its perfection. That had to be some odd shit right there.

The problem was I didn't want to just fuck Bella. I didn't know _what _I wanted. It was this gray cloudy mass, this hazy way I wondered if maybe I could get a grip on something and hold onto it. Such an unhealthy way to think, setting yourself up like that. I supposed it had to be coming from Jazz and Alice. And from trying to look at the future when the fact was I _had_ no future. I had whatever I was doing right then at any given moment. Today I had today. All past, no future, a line that goes in only one direction.

Another bent nail. I grunted in irritation and flicked it away, not pausing before I hammered a new one in its place.

The future thing, I was blaming that on Mrs. Clearwater, and on Bella. Mrs. Clearwater for having a roof that needed so much work I was certain I'd be back at least one more time, and shit while I was up here I might as well clean out the gutters so really that was two more times. And I'd noticed the slider needed to be greased and the garage was a mess and someone should take care of that too. And when I came back here was going to want to feed me with her magically unreal kitchen and thank me and damn it. To be on this roof now and knowing I was going to be back up here in the future.

The hammer dented a patch in the roof from me slamming it too hard, and I cursed as I ran my fingers over the spot and laid another shingle over it.

And then Bella, with her fucking "wait" bullshit, that line about getting to know each other, and I'd been so pissed off and I still _was _pissed offbut then look what I went and did. I was playing along, wasn't I? Without meaning to. It was because I had nothing better going on and she kept coming over, so even without _trying_ to wait I automatically was. Either she'd sleep with me sometime or she wouldn't. When you're waiting for something that carries the implication that it's going to happen _in the future_, which means that there has to be a fucking future to wait for.

"It's driving me insane," I shared with Jazz through gritted teeth, no longer able to contain it. "She'll be talking to be about the most inconsequential shit and I just want to... want to... fuck I don't even know. I don't know. I feel like an animal. Like if I had another second alone with her I'd like _devour_ her. I'm not even fucking kidding."

_La Bestia_. That was what the nuns at the parochial school had called me, because of my disfiguration. I felt like a beast.

"Don't you think you're dismissing this a little too quickly?" Jazz sat up and frowned, furrowing his eyebrows as he regarded me.

"Dismissing? _Dismissing_? She doesn't want that, Jazz. She wants to go out and get to know each other and talk and shit. It's fucking ridiculous, is what it is. "

"I'll tell you what's ridiculous, man. It's _ridiculous_ that you think you don't deserve to be happy, and that you sell yourself so fucking short in everything you do and want. Bella _likes_ you, man. At least _think_ about it."

"You can't even imagine how much fucking time I have spent thinking about this!" I snapped back.

The new shingle I'd put down made the spot too thick and the next nail I tried to hammer in bent too, and the one after that. I ripped the shingle off in frustration and tossed it across the roof where I wouldn't have to look at it. Jazz kept his eyes on me but said nothing further.

A month ago none of this had been my problem. It'd been me, and Jazz, and the most I had to worry about was whether I should show up to work one more day or tell Mr. Banner to go fuck himself already. And now, _now_ I had Mrs. Clearwater reminding me of the nice mom I never had and fucking _Alice_, existing with Jazz in a way that made me know I was missing something without knowing what the fuck it was, and plus apparently I had to deal with her telling him all the stupid shit I'd said or done to Bella. And Bella, with that nice body and those pretty pitying eyes and her lines about waiting.

Now I was just getting careless, swinging the hammer too hard and not positioning right. I smashed a roofing nail into a shingle but also managed to bash my thumb in the process, and that was _it_ for me.

"Fucking _bitches!_" I growled.

I didn't think. I swung the hammer in my grasp and pulled my arm back as I stood up, until my shoulder was tight from the strain. I snapped my arm forward again and the hammer went sailing through the air, landing in the dirt lot across the street from the Clearwater house. I didn't hear it hit the ground but I saw the cloud of dust it kicked up. I began scouring the roof, looking for something else to hurl off the roof, but there was only the shingles and the box of roofing nails. The nails wouldn't be satisfying to throw but I could kick them, sure I could, and I was already imagining the metal rain as I drew back my foot.

Next thing Jazz was at my side, wrapping his arms around me tight enough to knock the wind out of me and pulling me backward so that I stumbled.

"Hey," he was saying. "Hey, Edward, hey. Easy man. Hey. Hey."

"I'm good," I rasped, sucking in deep breaths and working to make this actually true. "I'm good."

"Easy," Jazz repeated.

After another minute he released me, hovering his arms around me in case he needed to grab me again. I closed my eye and did the thing the court shrink had said, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, counting up and down from 0 to 20 over and over again in my head to try to calm down. That always did jack shit for me.

"God _damn_ it," I hissed. Now I was going to have to go find the hammer amid all the dead plants and other debris over there.

"I'm sorry for fucking with you about Bella. I am. Hey, man. Hey. Easy."

"Fuck it," I announced, rolling my shoulders to loosen them as I walked to the ladder. I began climbing down and Jazz stood over me to witness my descent.

"Forget it," he told me apologetically. "No mixer. Fuck the mixer. We'll do something else, yeah? You and me?"

I shook my head. I wasn't going to let him try to accommodate me like that.

"You can go without me."

I hopped down the last few feet and Jazz climbs down after me. Together we crossed the street and jumped the rotting wooden fence into the dirt lot to look in the area where I thought I'd seen the hammer land. Bottles and cans were all over the ground, fast food wrappers and God knew what else. Probably used rubbers and about ten million cigarette butts.

It only a few minutes to find the hammer, and as we were returning to the Clearwater house Jazz spat and turned to me.

"You got here early yeah? Like way early?"

"Yeah."

He nodded to himself, satisfied. What time was it? Maybe three in the afternoon? I didn't own a watch and neither did Jazz, but that was my best estimate based on where the sun was in the sky.

"So let's peace out now, man. You've done enough work for the day. Go grab a bite to eat and some beers. I'll come back with you next time to make up my hours. Then if you're still feeling shitty we'll skip the college thing, and if not we'll go. Yeah?"

I raised my head and looked at the roof, then back over at Jazz. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he was kicking the tiny rocks that filled the empty street. I tried to envision getting any more productive work done today but what I really wanted was to fling the hammer off the roof again.

"Alright."

I pushed the hammer into Jazz's ribs, revenge for earlier, and listened to him gasp as the air was forced out of his lungs.

After we put everything away I went into the house to leave Mrs. Clearwater a note telling her I'd be back, and I made Jazz wait for me outside. No real reason, since I knew he wouldn't do anything even if I wasn't there, but I felt oddly protective of Mrs. Clearwater's place. Jazz was like a stranger that she wouldn't know had been in her kitchen, and that didn't seem right. Jazz didn't mind; he took the opportunity to once more relieve himself in the yard.

We stopped at a diner in Forks so Jazz could get a burger to go, then at the grocery store before going home. I made rice, and we went to the front porch to eat.

I was still on edge from earlier, rather than having gotten it out of my system. My body was tight and all nerves, some kind of animal instinct that something was about to happen. The stress was gnawing at me, ruining the taste of my food. I tried an apple but that wasn't right either, and I recalled what Bella had said about raccoons as I chucked it into the trees. Raccoons ate apples, right? Raccoons ate damn near anything.

After the sun set it started to get cold, so we went inside and took turns showering. Jazz avoided bringing up the campus thing again, but he was observing my mood and waiting for me to announce my decision.

I was stuck. If I went then I was going to have to deal with Bella and Alice, who was also kind of on my shit list right now. Not to mention a whole fuckton of pretentious dickhead college students that were years younger than me but ages ahead of me in terms of life possibilities. On the other hand, if I didn't go then Jazz wouldn't go, and then I'd just feel like shit for the rest of the night for keeping him from his girl.

Avoidance is not always cowardice. Sometimes it's self-preservation. But sometimes, I guess, yeah it's cowardice.

We were chilling in the living room, me sprawled on the sofa and Jazz in his new favorite chair, when I finally gave in.

"What time's this thing start?" I asked. Jazz grinned because he knew then that he'd get his party after all.

"Ten, I think, is when the girls were gonna go."

"Should go put on something that doesn't make you look like such a hillbilly," I told him, turning my head and looking at his busted up jeans.

"Fuck you," Jazz laughed, nevertheless standing to go upstairs.

I settled back into the cushions and closed my eyes. _Well this is gonna be fun._

*************

**Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think. :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**BPOV**

Every semester, most of the departments put together an event for all the newly declared students to meet and mingle with their co-majorers as well as with the faculty. In theory, they were loosely organized occasions to make new friends and get to know the professors and grad students in a less formal setting. In practice, most of the faculty bailed the absolute earliest that they could and the entire thing devolved into drunken farce. If you were clever and planned ahead, you'd show up just as the transition was beginning and gave each of your professors and T.A.s a smile and a wave before they departed and you proceeded to get smashed.

Furthermore, some of the departments were known for having better "mixers" than others, depending upon the kinds of students that majored in them. For example, the math department and the business school both sucked. The psych department and the art department were a rollicking good time. The English department, to which I belonged? Well, let's just say that even some of the faculty bothered to stay.

Rose and Emmett were already on campus, having gone earlier in the evening after stocking up on Nalgenes of rum and Coke. That was how the shenanigans at these mixers went down, a real do-it-yourself operation thanks to the technical hindrance posed by our college having a dry campus. The proctors and security guards knew what we were up to without a doubt, but for the most part they left us alone until things got too out of hand. We were don't ask, don't tell, kind of like the military only about alcohol and having nothing to do with homosexuality unless you counted the semester Alice had too many soda cans full of vodka and made out with this girl Irina from one of her classes. Alice didn't count it for the simple fact that she didn't remember it.

I wasn't surprised that Alice had managed to convince Jazz to tag along and keep us company. Jazz was one of the most laid back, accommodating individuals I'd ever met. What _did_ surprise me was when he showed up at our house Saturday night in his beat up pickup truck with Edward at his side. How had he managed to pull that one off? Bribery? Blackmail? Before, I'd suspected Edward didn't much care for being around me. After the incident on his deck a few days ago, I wasn't prepared to be around _him_.

It was entirely my own fault, I supposed, for managing Edward poorly. I'd never done well in chemistry back in high school, and Edward was a volatile mixture of chemicals that required handling with extreme care. There had been some missteps, and I knew that now. I was mostly ready to proceed – with caution. If I was the empathetic, understanding individual I believed myself to be, now was the occasion to prove that to myself and to Edward. Assuming he hadn't written me off entirely already, that is.

Jasper was completely tickled as he stood in our kitchen watching Alice and I fill up Nalgenes with screwdrivers. Alice explained how convenient it was, having the measurements right there on the side of the container. The only time Edward spoke was to request that we leave the juice out of one of the bottles, as he apparently did not prefer our chosen brand. I wanted to ask him about that, why it mattered where the orange juice came from, but we'd probably hit our limit on sharing for the time being.

It was only a fifteen minute walk from our house to the entrance of the campus, so we hoofed it. Nalgenes in hand, we paired off on the sidewalk with Jazz and Alice leading. I was just on the verge of feeling smug that I had avoided Alice putting me in heels like the ones she was going to have to walk around in all night, when Jazz scooped her up and carried her on his shoulders almost the entire way.

"So… How was La Push?" I asked Edward, who had unscrewed his Nalgene and was sniffing at the vodka suspiciously. I was determined to keep the conversation light and away from anything that might set him off, now that I had a better idea of what those things might be.

Jazz had been instrumental in that regard. Last night when we were watching _Mama Mia!_, which again was a true testament to how easy going the man was, I'd inundated Jazz with questions about Edward. He was admirably tight-lipped. That is until Alice , who was getting impatient listening to Jazz fielding my inquiries when what she really wanted to listen to was Pierce Brosnan singing Abba, blurted that I was "hot for Edward" and that we'd "made out". Jazz was momentarily stunned speechless, which went to show that Edward was more discreet than I had been. Why hadn't he told Jazz? I mean, I assumed guys normally bragged about that sort of thing and perhaps even embellished. Was Edward ashamed? What a depressing thought.

I was embarrassed by Alice's blunt revelation, but not too embarrassed to supply Jazz with a more accurate (albeit still quite vague) portrayal of events and to ask him if he thought maybe possibly Edward might be kind of sort of interested in me "in that way".

"I dunno," Jazz had admitted, "It's kinda hard to tell what he's thinking unless he goes off, you know?"

I did know. I knew all too well.

"Man, you got that right," I'd muttered, prompting Alice to giggle.

Jazz wasn't laughing along. He told me Edward kept to himself for a reason, and that Edward preferred it that way. He said Edward didn't "do so well with the ladies", something I never would have believed when all I knew about Edward was that he was a lawbreaker with ridiculously good looks. Now I knew more. I asked Jazz about Edward's mother, and Jazz stared at me.

"Don't talk about his mother," he'd said gravely. "Don't ask about his mom, don't make fun of his food, don't make him self-conscious. He's really self-conscious, okay?"

I'd not thought Jazz capable of being so serious, and Edward struck me as a very confident person, making Jazz's words seem all the more important to heed.

So now here Edward and I were, half-chatting about Mrs. Clearwater's roof and sipping out of our booze-filled water bottles.

"She should get the whole thing redone, but that's really pricey." Edward smelled his vodka again and took a drink, his wrinkled nose reflecting the discount price of the brand we'd chosen.

"So you're going to go back?" When Edward nodded I hesitated and continued, "Do you think you could take me with you? Like give me a ride?"

"Give you a ride?" Edward's forehead creased.

"To visit Billy – Jake's dad, I mean – and Jake," I explained hastily. "Billy likes it when I stop by because he says he misses seeing me around, but I don't have a car right now so…"

"Yeah, sure, I can give you a ride," Edward agreed, not looking at me. He was looking up ahead at Alice and Jazz, a strange expression on his face.

He kept gazing off into nowhere, and I briefly entertained the wild theory that Jazz had coerced him into coming along by doping him up. Edward came across as tired or even weary, his tone foreign to me. I thought about asking him if he wanted to just forget about it and go home, but the selfish part of me was too excited for his company tonight. I hated the department mixers, but I was thrilled that Edward was playing along. Bizarrely, I hoped I looked cute. It was something I'd never put earnest care into previously, but Alice had done my hair and makeup and I wanted to know that I looked good.

We heard the crowd in the quad outside the English building long before we saw them, and by the time we arrive things were in full swing with college students yelling and careening into each other. There was a band set up to play outside the student bookstore, though one could barely make out the music over the din. Jazz swung Alice down from his shoulders and she grabbed my hand to drag me with her to the ladies' room.

"How's it going? Any progress?" Alice was anxious for details once we were in line to use the facilities, along with about a million other girls.

"It's been half an hour," I pointed out drily.

"Hey, you can do a lot in half an hour."

I cringed. "I really don't want to hear that."

Alice shrugged and started digging through her purse for her mirror so as to check her still-immaculate appearance. I didn't actually have to use the bathroom, so I excused myself and went to rejoin Edward and Jazz.

By the time I returned to the spot we'd left them, the guys has relocated to steer clear of some guys who were batting around a beach ball. Both of them were so disoriented, so out of place as they glanced around them in curiosity and bewilderment, that I was both amused and sympathetic. Something caught Jazz's eye, and while he was distracted a drunk kid with a shaved head careened into him attempting to catch the beach ball. Jazz fell back a step to steady his balance, and the two men regarded each other.

From my current vantage I saw the drunk guy say something angry to Jazz. He was big, almost but not quite as big as Jazz himself. Jazz responded and gave him a smile that I recognized well enough to worry, and I hurried over. The guy said something else and Edward said something as he put his arm out across Jazz's chest, his eyes on Shaved Head. Shaved Head sneered, and by now I was close enough to hear him speak.

"Whatever bro, like I couldn't take you." His words were slightly slurred, and I guessed he'd gotten here a lot earlier than we had.

The muscles around Jazz's eyes tightened and Edward didn't lower his arm. He was trying to prevent a fight, but he was also sizing up the drunk.

"Yeah, man, I'm sure you could take him," he told the drunk with placating blandness. "Let it go."

"Come on you guys," I piped up, inserting myself in the situation by stepping between Jazz and Shaved Head. "Let's go find Rosalie and Emmett!" Not like I thought either of them would be particularly eager to socialize with my housemate and her boyfriend, but it was the first thing that popped into my head.

"Sounds good," Edward agreed, steering Jazz away from the drunk guy. Jazz's smile faded and he blew a kiss at the dude as he passed. I gave the drunk guy my brightest false smile and scurried after Edward and Jazz.

"Jazz."

Edward stopped them about twenty feet away and gave Jazz a hard look that Jazz returned with wide-eyed innocence I now knew better than to believe in. Damn, though, he pulled it off well. Their eyes were locked on each other as they ignored my presence entirely.

"No fighting. I swear to God. No. Fighting. This isn't a place we can just book from and the last thing you need is some yuppie asshole's parents setting their lawyer on you. You read me?" He tugged hard on Jazz's shirt to punctuate his message.

"Yeah I read you." Jazz muttered, breaking away from Edward's grip. He looked less like a guy inches from arguing with his friend and more like a kid who had been told he wasn't getting a treat from the store. Jazz turned to me and raised his eyebrows.

"Alice will be right back," I told him, preempting his question. Jazz nodded, satisfied.

It was a tense few seconds, and I was searching for a way to break into it when I spotted one of my professors headed my way. I'd been meaning to catch him at his office hours, but he was never there when I stopped by. He looked like he was in a good mood and I figured now was as good a time as any, so I dashed over and waved my arm in the air to get his attention. He was moving quickly, I supposed in his haste to leave the event that he was only required to attend for an hour or so, and I all but blocked his path to prevent his getaway.

"Professor," I greeted him breathlessly. He frowned at me and I knew he was trying to remember who I was. "Bella Swan. I'm in your Modern Literature course, Monday-Wednesday-Friday?" I spoke in a rush, flustered by his totally blank face. As I rattled off the information recognition flitted across his features.

"Oh, yes, of course. Miss Swan. I'm sorry, I'm afraid my head is swimming with names right now."

He smiled at me in apology, as if he genuinely felt bad, and bowed his head repentantly. I felt a presence to my left and turned minutely to see that Edward and Jazz were standing with me now. Jazz looked back and forth between my professor and me curiously, and I realized that an introduction was appropriate. I cleared my throat and stepped aside to gesture.

"These are my friends, Edward and Jazz. Edward, Jazz, this is one of my professors, Dr.-"

"Please, call me Carlisle," my professor interrupted, going in for a fresh round of hand shaking. "It hardly seems suitable to refer to me by my title under these specific circumstances."

It was a nice sentiment, one belied by his formality. I doubted I'd be able to comfortable call him by his first name to his face; not with that suit jacket and perfectly parted hair.

"Are you grad students?" he asked, directing his question to Edward.

"What's a grad student?" Jazz wanted to know without even a hint of irony. "If they've graduated, they're not a student anymore, right?" I never ceased to be amazed by the small slices of life Jazz had somehow missed out on.

Carlisle didn't hide his amusement. "Ah. Not students then." I thought I detected a hint of condescension, and I prayed to God that neither Jazz nor Edward heard the same.

"Uh, _no_." Edward had, then.

"I… see." Carlisle gazed at Edward in interest.

"It's actually very hard to get into college if you have a criminal record, even if you got a GED on the inside," Edward offered with faux cheerfulness. Beside him, Jazz was biting back a laugh. If I weren't half afraid of Edward I would have glared at him.

"I presume so," Carlisle murmured thoughtfully.

I cringed as I watched Edward bring his Nalgene to his lips and take a heavy swig. Carlisle undoubtedly knew there was drinking going on, but it would have been nice to not do it right in front of him. I cleared my throat to redirect Carlisle's attention to myself.

"So, I tried stopping by your office hours on Friday but I guess I got the times wrong." I hadn't. "I wanted to ask you about something you said in lecture, about... uhm… I can't remember exactly what you said. With the narrator versus the implied author..."

Shoot. I didn't have my notes with me, and I was floundering. Carlisle gave me a benevolent smile, waiting for me to proceed with my question.

"Well, I guess, I mean, I guess I don't really understand the difference…"

I hadn't; as far as I could tell, they were the same thing. I could have Googled it, but the wireless at the house was patchy at best and I hadn't found the opportunity to go to the campus library and use the computers there. Carlisle spent a good portion of Friday's lecture going on about it, so I had to assume it would be on our in-class exam on Monday. My original question had been much more involved and, to my mind anyway, much more intelligent sounding. Without my notes, however…

Carlisle inhaled deeply, and I feared that now was not the time to bring up academia to him. After all, this was meant to be a social occasion. He didn't appear to be annoyed or, more accurately, pretending he was not annoyed. Edward and Jazz, on the other hand, had grown bored and were conferring quietly.

"I'm surprised you're less able to distinguish between the narrator and the implied author than the implied author and the actual author," Carlisle began in a way that let me know he was about to extrapolate at great length.

"Well, the actual author is the only _real_ person, right?" I asked nervously, worried that I had missed something. To the tell the truth I'd been more than a bit distracted thinking about the bronze-haired man now standing in the very near vicinity.

"Well, yes, in that he is the physical person who created the text, but the narrator and the implied author are distinctly different in that the narrator, be he third person omniscient or a first person participant of the story, is a direct part of the work, whereas the implied author is removed from the text…"

He continued on, essentially repeating his lecture, and I felt myself growing ever more helpless and confused. This had been tough for me to grasp in the classroom; out in the quad with a small amount of alcohol in my blood stream, I stood no chance. My best plan was to simply nod, pretend as though I had half a clue what Carlisle was saying, and try to figure it out on my own later. Maybe Alice would drive me to campus early on Monday and I'd be able to stop in the library and look it up before class.

"…And, as Barthes states, modern literature experiences the death of the so-called 'real' author, in that the work, once published or given to the reader-"

"Wait, hang on."

Carlisle stopped abruptly and both of us turned our heads to the source of the interruption. Edward was frowning at Carlisle, tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brow in concentration. Jazz was nowhere to be seen.

"Yes?" Carlisle scratched his cheek and waited patiently. He expected Edward to be confused and ask him to try again, was the impression I got. I guess I expected the same thing.

"What you're saying is that like, say I take Huck Finn. And the narrator, the main character, right? Is really fucking racist. But kind of in a way so that you know he's wrong and racism is wrong?"

"Correct." Carlisle was enthralled. I kind of was too, wondering where Edward was going with this. Frankly I was taken aback by the fact that he'd read Huckleberry Finn, let alone thought about it in any critical sense. Of course, I wished he wouldn't cuss in front of my professor, but Carlisle didn't look like he minded.

"But that anti-racism or whatever you'd call it is the _implied_ author, because for all we know Mark Twain was racist as hell?"

Carlisle broke into a wide smile, delighted.

"Precisely."

I gaped at Edward, whose face had relaxed into familiar blankness. How in God's name had he managed to understand that when I'd failed so miserably? I'd never taken him for an idiot, but now I felt like one in comparison.

"Man, that has got to be some of the biggest bullshit I've ever heard. Who makes this shit up? Like who's ever gonna need to know that?"

I was mortified at Edward's audacity. Carlisle laughed.

"College professors, I expect." Carlisle was still grinning at Edward. Edward's countenance gave away nothing.

"That's… Shit, man, how much do they pay you? That's fucking _ridiculous_."

Carlisle laughed again and I wished fervently to disappear under a rock. Good Lord. Maybe next we could run into my Intro to Classics professor and Edward could say he thought poetry that didn't rhyme sucked. Carlisle reached out and clasped Edward's hand to shake it again and Edward allowed him to do so although he didn't share Carlisle's humor at the situation.

"Well. Very nice to meet you, sir." Carlisle looked at me. "I'll see you on Monday… Bella?"

He spoke my name as an inquiry, checking to make sure he'd retained it. I nodded to let him know he had and gave a tiny wave as he excused himself and departed. Once we were alone I turned to Edward, who was again drinking from his Nalgene. He should have been nonchalantly smug, but he was just bored.

"When did you read Huckleberry Finn?" I meant to ask but closer to demanded. Edward's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"I know how to read, Bella."

Point Edward. I opened my mouth and closed it again before fiddling with the screw cap to my own water bottle.

"Do- do you read a lot? I mean for fun?" I tried to make the question sound conversational and not patronizing. Edward watched me drinking, possibly trying to decide whether or not to be offended. His intense scrutiny left me feeling totally exposed to him.

"I've had a lot of free time," he said quietly. His tone invited no further commentary on the subject, which I changed.

"Where did Jazz go?"

"To look for Alice."

Jazz and Alice two were… very close considering how little they had in common and how short an amount of time they'd known each other. I found it sweet that Jazz went after Alice, but didn't say so. Edward rolled forward onto his toes to draw up his height and scanned the swelling crowd. There were hundreds of us by now, and far more students than were actually in the English department. I smelled the unique stench of marijuana and was not at all nonplussed.

"Over there."

Edward pointed toward the front of the building, where I saw Alice and Jazz talking to Emmett and Rose. I was reluctant to allow any close interaction between Rosalie and Edward, but Edward was already walking over to them. I joined, taking a drink of my screwdriver and dribbling a small amount on my chin. Edward was ahead of me and didn't catch it, much to my relief. I wipe my chin on the back of my hand for lack of a better option and inwardly made a note not to multitask by drinking and walking in front of him in the future.

Emmett was boisterously tanked, which was both oddly cute and impressive given his size. The sheer amount of alcohol that must have taken would have been enough to knock out both Alice and I. Not Rosalie – she handled her stuff like a champ. Emmett grinned at me and swept me into a giant bear hug.

"Bella! Lookit you!" His voice boomed through the quad and now Jazz didn't have to contain his laughter. I risked crushing my rib cage for a couple seconds longer before gently disengaging myself.

"Hey Emmett. Rose. You, uh, you remember Edward, Rosalie?"

Of course she did. They were already inspecting each other, Edward revealing nothing and Rosalie arching her eyebrow coolly.

Once, just after Rosalie first moved in with Alice and me, we'd been going to see the latest Pixar movie and invited Rosalie to come along. We didn't know her all that well yet but were determined to make friends with her. Rosalie had given us that arched brow, and not an hour later the three of us were sitting in a theater watching Bruce Willis saved the world from nuclear annihilation whilst being a total badass. The only thing Rosalie was incapable of was _not_ getting her way, as far as I was aware.

I couldn't tell what she was hoping to get from Edward with that patented Rosalie look, but I was willing to put down my entire college fund allowance for the semester that she would not get it.

"Edward! Goodameetya!" Emmett thrust out his hand between Rosalie and Edward, making it into a fist. Emmett was a big fan of the fist bump. Edward returned it casually.

"Emmett, how much had you had to drink?" I had to know. For science.

Rosalie broke off her staring contest with Edward to roll her eyes.

"Too much. I had half a rum and coke while we were still at the history mixer, which _blew_ by the way, and he had the rest. Then we got here and he got his hands on a brass monkey while I was talking to someone, and now I have to lug him around for the rest of the night."

"You love me," Emmett insisted, dragging Rosalie into his gigantic arms and burying his face in her hair. Rosalie's disgust was enough to make even Edward crack a smile.

"How did you and Edward meet?" Alice asked Jazz, who also had his arms around his date for the evening.

I suffered from an odd feeling of nakedness with my two close friend nestled against the objects of their affection (or, in Rose's case at the moment, annoyance). Next to me, Edward had his hands shoved in his pockets. Something about Alice's question made Edward and Jazz grin at each other, and Edward gestured with his palm open in an invitation for Jazz to share.

"Asshole tried to steal my car."

Edward scoffed. "_Tried_? Fuck you, I _stole_ it."

"I caught up with you," Jazz pointed out, his lips curled upward.

"Oo you did? What did you do?" Alice's eyes were wide with excitement.

"Dragged him out of the driver's side and belted him." Jazz beamed proudly.

"Then what?" I craned my neck as if to get closer to the next words Jazz spoke.

"Yeah, then what?" Edward echoed me mockingly.

He smirked at Jazz, who ran his tongue across his teeth.

"Fuck you man, I got some good hits in."

"I beat the shit out him," Edward informed me matter-of-factly. Emmett, who was following the story with exaggerated head swinging motions as he looked from person to person, howled with laughter.

"Did you really?" I wasn't sure if they were just messing with us. Edward chewed his thumbnail and nodded, still wearing a tiny smile.

"Didn't matter anyway, we both got picked up," Jazz threw in, tightening his arms around Alice and rubbing her bare shoulder lovingly. He was the absolute picture of smitten, which baffled me when juxtaposed with the current line of discussion. Alice contorted herself to look back and up at his face.

"For fighting?"

Jazz took the opportunity to give Alice a quick peck on the lips, running his hand across Alice's stomach under her shirt in a way that was more than affectionate. She brushed his hand away but was quite pleased.

Edward snorted.

"For grand theft auto," he corrected her. "Turns out it wasn't Jazz's car to begin with, was it Jazz?"

"Stole it earlier that day," Jazz admitted without shame.

Alice brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle and I did the same. Emmett busted up, literally physically slapping his knee.

"The makings of true friendship." Rosalie's voice was dripping with facetiousness, but Jazz just shrugged.

"We were only kids, like what? Eighteen? Nineteen?" He looked to Edward for corroboration.

"I was eighteen," Edward confirmed. "That was my first indictment after my juvie record got sealed. My social worker was _heartbroken_."

"Whatever, an indictment's not a conviction."

"Too true."

Edward and Jazz mock saluted each other and I caught Jazz throwing in a wink as well.

"You weren't convicted?" This got more and more fantastical.

Jazz pouted out his lip at me. "Bastard got his charges dropped. Saying he stole it made it harder for the D.A. to prove that I'd stolen it. Guess you can't really steal a stolen car."

The story was… too absurd to be true, and yet I had no doubt it was. Alice's and my meeting at freshman orientation was so dull by comparison. We'd been sitting next to each other and she'd asked me for a pen when her own died, and that was it. Afterward we found out we were in the same dorm building and the rest was history. No fights. No brushes with the law. Once Alice locked herself out of her dorm room and we had to call campus security to let her back in. Jazz or Edward probably would have scaled the building and busted in through the window.

"Oh, _great._"

Rosalie tossed her head in disdain and I followed her gaze to see Lauren Mallory walking in our direction. Lauren her hand firmly planted on her hip as she sauntered over, and I was forced to admire her balls in approaching us alone. Edward and Jazz, caught up in their reminiscing, ignored the beginnings of what would surely be stupid and melodramatic. I was all for making a hasty exit but lacked the balls to take Edward's hand and draw him away. I unscrewed the cap on my Nalgene and took a healthy drink. Edward's own bottle, I noted, was almost empty. Considering it had been all vodka, I was impressed with how coherent he was. No slurring, no red face. I myself was getting a tad unsteady.

"Why Lauren. I wasn't aware that sucking a lit professor's dick counting as declaring an English major. Come on Emmett. I don't have time for this." Despite her haughty tone, Rosalie placed her arm through Emmett's in a display of possessiveness. Emmett sighed.

"Later," he told us, stumbling as Rosalie led him away.

Lauren sneered at their backs before turning to address me.

"If it isn't Little Miss Cottonelle. How's the single life treating you _Bella_?" The way she pronounced my name, emphasizing the "B" and rolling the "L"s off of her tongue, made it sound the opposite of its meaning.

"We didn't even do anything, Lauren," Alice piped up.

Lauren pursed her lips. She was getting ready to say something snide back when she was distracted by Edward. He had opened his Nalgene and was tossing back the rest of his vodka in one go, and Lauren eyed him curiously as she wait for him to swallow and straighten his head again.

"Hi there."

_Seriously?_

Edward blinked a few times and tilted his head to look at her. His quizzical expression was the first real indicator that he was inebriated, which he all but _had _to be after 500mL of 100 proof vodka. That was like Emmett levels of consumption.

"What time is it?" he asked Jazz, ignoring Lauren.

"Fuck if I know."

Lauren was not deterred.

"Almost midnight. What's your name? Do you go here?"

Edward barely glanced at her.

"Shit, no wonder I'm tired," he spoke again to Jazz. "I've been up… fuck. A long God damn time."

"You have," Jazz agreed amiably. Alice nuzzled into his chest and Jazz dipped his head down to give her a long kiss that was not entirely appropriate for public. Alice draped her arms around Jazz's neck and I looked away.

"I'm fucking _tired_."

Edward swung his Nalgene carelessly by the lid, letting it twist by the thin plastic band holding the lid to the bottle. He glanced around at the crowd that showed no signs of dispersing any time soon. Lauren, recognizing that he was a lost cause, harrumphed and spun on her designer heel to stalk away from us. I refrained from sticking my tongue out at her.

"I'm kinda having fun," Jazz told Edward, causing Edward to pull down his eyebrows. I understood that Edward wanted to leave and Jazz wanted to stay, and I saw my opening.

"I'll walk with you," I offered shyly, clasping my hands behind my back and giving him a hopefully friendly smile.

Alice bobbed her head. "Yeah, we'll catch up with you guys later." Unsubtle in her tipsy state, she winked at me. _Well _that's_ not humiliating. _

Edward didn't notice.

"Mmm," he hummed, acknowledging our words but not responding to them.

I was waiting for him to make up his mind about what he wanted to do and mentally preparing myself for conversation between the two of us in the event that we found ourselves alone, when we were approached once more. This time rather than Lauren it was the guy with the shaved head from when we'd first arrived. He had a buddy with him. I heard Jazz suck in a breath and release Alice, putting out his arm across her in much the same way Edward had done before but for an entirely different reason. He was being protective, as if a couple of plastered college kids were a real threat. That was an interesting instinct.

"Yeah man we can roll," Jazz said to Edward, making Edward's mind up for him.

"See?" Shaved Head told his friend, who was wearing a flannel shirt. "Pussies."

"How old are you guys, anyway?" Flannel Shirt wanted to know. "Don't you think you're taking a little long to finish your degree?" Owing to his beyond faded stupor, he struggled with both the word "finish" and the word "degree".

Jazz took another deep breath and glanced at Edward, and I saw that Jazz was trying to behave as he'd previously been instructed.

"Nah we don't go here, and we were just leaving."

"Where're you from, bro? You sound like a redneck."

Flannel Shirt laughed at his friend's joke. Jazz fumbled around beside himself for Alice's hand and took it, going to walk away. He looked like it was very, very hard for him to do. The guy with the shaved head sidestepped and pushed his hand into Jazz's chest to instigate. Jazz halted again and gave Edward another glance.

"Hey!" Alice shot out angrily. "He didn't do anything to you!" She hadn't witnessed the earlier event with the beach ball, but she was nevertheless correct. Jazz really had done no wrong. Yet. He was wearing thin, it was obvious.

"You need your girlfriend to protect you?" the one in the flannel shirt simpered.

On the other side of me, Edward snorted.

"Are you one hundred for real right now?" he wondered out loud. "You're for real looking to get wrecked over a fucking beach ball?"

"You too, asshole," Shaved Head spat, and I knew he meant in addition to Jazz but his sentence was unclear with nothing to precede it.

Jazz was close to Lamaze breathing, so carefully measured were his inhales and exhales as he made a second attempt at walking away. This time when the one with the shaved head pushed him Jazz stared into the guy's eyes and slowly bared his teeth in a cold grin.

"Jazz." Edward's tone was full of caution. "Not only is it a big fucking probation violation, but you're gonna scare the piss out of Alice."

The second part probably wasn't true, but the only thing the other guys heard was the word "probation".

"Bullshit you're on probation," the guy with the flannel shirt said, but he sounded more hesitant now. He and his buddy exchanged a look.

"Mmhmm," Jazz told him, continuing to grin in a way that scared the piss out of _me_ and hadn't even _done_ anything. He drawled softly, "I broke a guy's shoulder on a pool table..."

Was that true? Hell, I believe it was. That could not have been an easy feat. Jazz licked his lips deliberately.

"You're full of shit, you fucking hillbilly," Shaved Head said, not looking at all like he believed his own words.

"You know, man, whatever." Edward straightened up and swung his Nalgene around again, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the guys but spoke to Jazz. "I don't fucking care. Go for it. I'm not helping you though. Fuck that. You don't need it anyway."

The Nalgene made a second loop around the lid in Edward's hand and bumped into Flannel Shirt, startling him. Edward began walking away, effectively absolving himself of the situation after giving Jazz his "permission." Jazz dropped Alice's hand and cocked his head, looking at Shaved Head in expectation.

"Push me again," he suggested politely.

It would have been funny were it not terrifying. The guy with the shaved head edged backward, out of the range of fire. His buddy followed suit. They didn't break gaze with Jazz until they had to, and then it was to turn around and hurry away.

I didn't stick around to see how Jazz and Alice fared in the wake of the near encounter. I took off after Edward, who'd made a great deal of progress in the short span of time it took Jazz to make the two drunk dudes piss themselves with fear. Edward was out of the quad and headed down the road to the campus entrance, his navigation faculties not impaired by whatever level of intoxicated he was.

"Hey, wait up," I called out, now more glad than ever that I was in comfortable shoes.

Edward didn't stop, but I imagined he slowed down to allow me to catch up to him.

"How often does that king of thing happen?" I was breathless as I matched his purposeful stride.

"Not generally this often. Jazz is keeping me busy; usually I have more time to struggle through Huck Finn."

I couldn't decide if his being a smartass was a positive indicator or a negative one. He was like that whether he was in a good mood or not. In either case, the half-miss of his remark told me he was a couple drinks over the line of wit. Still no slurring. If I hadn't seen with my own eyes how much vodka he put down, I wouldn't have known he'd been drinking. He _was_, however, very on edge. I saw his jaw flexing in the glow of the streetlights, his occasional gnawing on his thumbnail. Something was bothering him.

"Stupid," he decided suddenly. "Stupid to invite us."

"You were having fun for a while there," I reminded him, but privately I agreed. It had not been one of Alice's better ideas, as happy as I'd been to see Jazz and Edward at my door tonight.

"No, Jazz was having fun. Shit, bet he still is."

I'd have bet he was too. Jazz could likely have fun doing just about anything.

"Oh shit. Ha."

Edward patted down his pants and pulled out a metal flask from his back pocket. While I looked on, he unscrewed the cap and took a swig of its contents. He wiped his mouth as he proffered the container to me and I declined. Edward shrugged and took another heavy drink. His hand was shaking holding the flask. In fact, I thought maybe his entire body shaking just slightly with his unease or whatever it was. I might have been making that up.

"Well how're you going to get home with him still on campus?" Jazz was the one with the keys, right? And Edward was in no condition to drive. We were halfway home by now, so it was pertinent that I ask. Edward could sleep on the sofa if it came down to it. We had extra blankets and pillows.

Edward smiled to himself.

"Guess I could steal his truck."

I was not positive he was joking.

"You can't drive anyway, you've been drinking. You can stay over or at least until Jazz gets back or something."

It didn't make a difference to him, maybe, but it made a difference to _me._ I was _not_ letting him get behind the wheel of a car. We'd gotten this far in the evening without Edward snapping at me specifically or really even in general so I felt confident in making the declaration.

By now we were outside the house, and all of the lights were dark. Either Rosalie and Emmett weren't home yet, or they'd gone to spend the night at Emmett's place. Given Rosalie's qualms about male hygiene, I banked on the former. Actually, given Rosalie, they were probably getting it on in the middle of the forest off of upper campus. She'd revealed to me in the past that when Emmett was under the influence he got more "adventurous." As if I would _ever_ want to know that.

"I am kinda drunk," Edward stated, sounding interested to learn this about himself.

He followed me to the front door and stood by the porch as I unlocked it. Once we were inside I flicked on the kitchen light and made for the stairs. The blankets and pillows were upstairs in the linen cabinet at the end of the hall. I expected Edward to wait downstairs, but he tagged along.

"Are you drunk?"

I contemplated his question as I popped open the linen cabinet. I'd had maybe three quarters of my Nalgene screwdriver, which worked out to about 150mL of vodka over the past two and a half hours. I was totally sober. Was Edward going to ask me to help him steal Jazz's truck? The idea was so preposterous I had to smile. I pulled out a large quilt and looked at Edward.

"Nope."

He frowned at me and I swore he was displeased to learn this. Edward heaved a loud sigh and yanked the quilt out of my arms, throwing it aside.

"Fuck it."

Before I was truly cognizant what was happening, Edward's mouth was on mine and he had pinned me against the open linen closet. He tasted like whiskey, the presumed contents of the flask.

"Mmph…"

By reflex I wrapped my arms around Edward's neck and let him push closer against me. I had no clue why this was happening or what had possessed Edward but I was not complaining in the slightest.

I'd thought the other kiss, the one on the porch, was amazing?

No.

_This _was amazing. Edward braced his hands on the cabinet shelf behind me and lowered his mouth to my neck with a level of fervor previously unknown to me. I moaned and Edward thrust his hips hard into mine. One of his hands worked up the back of my shirt and the other cupped my ass, and Edward effortlessly hoisted me up off the carpeting. I teased the nape of Edward's neck and his silky hair and he let out this kind of purring groan that vibrated on my collarbone. Then his mouth was back on mine.

It wasn't until Edward pressed his hips into mine again and I felt his erection that I really processed where this was going. I ceased moving. Edward noticed.

"Oh my _God_, Bella," he begged me. "I swear to Christ, _please _do not tell me to wait right now." Even as he spoke he stilled his hands and let his forehead fall to my shoulder.

Tonight was a turning point in our relationship. We'd hung out on my own territory, where I was more comfortable, and I really knew a lot more about Edward now that I had only hours prior. I knew he was smart and liked to read, and that he was a loyal friend who wanted to keep his best friend out of trouble. I knew that despite what Jazz said about Edward's self-consciousness, Edward was unapologetic about who he was. And now I knew that, at least on a physical level, he _was_ interested in me after all.

And really, he'd come out tonight and spent the entire time being social with me, so I didn't believe it was only physical. What would he do if I told him I didn't want to have sex with him yet? Once had been upsetting enough, but my giving him two mid-makeout rejections was more than I could logically expect Edward to take without giving up on me forever. At the same time, no matter _how_ much I liked Edward, I wasn't about to sleep with him purely out of fear of losing his interest. No way. Not him or any other guy. When I didn't answer right away Edward all but growled in frustration.

I was so busy panicking about how to field the problem that it took me a moment to realize there w_asn't_ one. I absolutely wanted to have sex with Edward right now.

"My room's at the end of the hall," I whispered.

Edward drew his head back from mine with those intensely beautiful green eyes burning into mine, and then he lowered me back down to the ground so I could show him the way.

He tossed me on the bed and nearly tore my clothes off in his haste to get at me. I heard a seam rip on my sweater but didn't care. We were so frenzied that Edward was having difficulty staying focused. He'd go from undoing my jeans to kissing me to undoing _his_ jeans to tugging on my shirt and back again. It was potent, this desire mixed with the sensation that for once _I_ was desirable. Edward wanted me. Couldn't wait to have me. Someone couldn't wait to have _me_.

He flung my bra aside, not taking any time to appreciate that I'd worn matching underwear this evening, and climbed on top of me in his shirt and boxers. I went to pull his shirt off, and Edward grabbed my wrist to get me to release the fabric. He sat up and looked down at me, breathing harder than I was, and closed his eyes before peeling his own shirt over his head.

His skin temperature was several degrees warmer than mine and it was spectacular the way he worked his hands all over my body. Not even in fondling, but more like he was _handling _me. I was more turned on that I had ever been in my life and for once I was actually impatient for sex. I was _hoping_ for sex. I was _looking forward_ to it.

"Your _skin_," Edward grunted once we were naked. "I wanting to fucking I don't even know what I want to do."

He lifted me off the bed easily and palming my back roughly that way I might have expected him to grope my breasts. He fell onto his back and took me with him as if I weighed nothing. It was kind of awe inducing how he always just put my body exactly the way he wanted it. Good Lord he was strong.

"Like this," Edward insisted, still roaming my backside with his hands. "I want it like this."

I'd never had sex any other way than the good old missionary standard, but I didn't share that with Edward. I arched my body over in the darkness to fumble in my nightstand for a condom and handed it to him.

Mike and I had sex, sure, in that he had technically inserted his penis into my vagina on several dozen separate occasions. I hadn't hated it but I hadn't loved it, and for me it had been geared more toward pleasing Mike and furthering the intimacy of our relationship. This was what I'd told myself. Any dissatisfaction I'd had with it was quelled by the various websites I read that said most women were unable to orgasm from intercourse. One feminist blog declared that I need not be embarrassed by this, and that it was perfectly fine to use my hand to "help things along". I'd tried that a couple times, but with Mike on top of me and thrusting it was a logistical impossibility.

To call _that_ sex in the face of what Edward and I were current engaged in was _laughable_. If sex could be considered a life skill of sorts, Edward was excellent at practical application. He knew exactly what he was doing and how he wanted it, and I was honest-to-God shocked by how good it was. Thank heavens no one else was home, because I was reaching Rosalie volumes with my moaning.

Edward had not just been setting the mood when he said he liked my skin. He kept his hands on my back and sides except when they were on my hips to guide the rhythm. He was enthralled, was the only word I could think of that came close to describing it. For those few minutes, at least, I felt like the sexiest and most beautiful woman in the entire universe.

Something else: in this position touching myself was _not _a logistical impossibility, so I did. Edward saw what I was doing and let his head fall back onto the pillow with a groan.

"Fuck, Bella…"

When I came it was like a hallelujah victory moment for me. All that time lamenting that it wasn't going to work out, that I was one of those women who were destined not to orgasm while being penetrated? Ha! With a sharp cry I ceased moving, savoring both my ecstasy and my triumph.

Edward didn't even pause. He flipped us onto my back and hugged my leg up against his chest, still going, thrusting relentlessly. You hear the phrase "sex machine" and it conjures up imagines of some kind of humping robot. That's all wrong though.

I'd have classified Edward as a sex machine, no question.

"Your nails," he hissed into my neck.

I was kind of pressing them into his back in my tenseness from the position change. I relaxed my grip and drew my hands to his neck, hoping I hadn't ruined the mood for him or anything. Edward grunted and reached up over his shoulder without missing his rhythm, taking my hand and firmly planting it on his shoulder blade.

"No, your _nails,_" he panted, pushing his hand into the back of mine to illustrate his point.

I got the message. I dug my nails into Edward's flesh and he groaned loudly.

"Harder."

I pressed my nails in deeper. Edward made a rough, nearly animal-like sound.

"_Harder_."

I was taken aback because there was no way that _didn't_ hurt, but I did what he said and he growled again. I began to get so sensitive down there that I was sure I'd have to ask him to stop soon, but then he hissed and stilled and I knew he was coming.

_Jesus Christ. _

All told it had been about half an hour since we'd entered the house, forty-five minutes tops. Edward collapsed on top of me and buried his face in my neck, both of us gulping in air to steady our breathing. He was trembling again and I wondered if it was from the strain of putting his body weight on his arms or from something else. I lifted my head to look over Edward's shoulder and saw the tiny crescent-shaped cuts my fingernails had left amongst the old scars that blanketed his back. I ran a finger over one of them, smearing the blood.

"Doesn't that hurt?" I breathed.

Edward mumbled into my neck, unmoving. "Yeah. It's good, yeah it hurts. It's good."

We lay like that a while longer, until we were jarred out of our silence by the sound of the front door opening and closing accompanied by voices.

"Bella?" I recognized Alice's voice calling my name. A male voice said something and then there was no more calling out.

Edward rolled off me and hastily disposed of the condom before gathering up his clothes off the floor. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching him. I hadn't been imagining it those other times – he was shaking violently. What was wrong with him?

"Don't go," I meant to ask but more like pleaded, and Edward raised his head to look at me.

"I- I can't stay," he told me, dropping his other clothes and pulling on first his t-shirt then his boxers.

He was taking off. After that, after the most intense sexual experience of my young lifetime with the man I was more attracted to than I had ever been to _anyone_, my partner was just going to bail on me. I jump up and tugged on my own underwear, feeling like I may very well cry.

"Please?"

Edward sucked in air sharply. He wanted to go and I _did not want him to go._ God, it stung. In the wake of our salacious endeavors it was the least he could do was make a token effort at cuddling, but that wasn't even what this was about. This was about my desperate need to convince myself that we hadn't just had sex to have it. This was about whatever was making Edward freak out when he'd been fine all night up till now.

"Please?" I repeated, biting my lower lip so he wouldn't be able to tell how close I was to tears.

Edward's mouth was open and now he looked afraid as of me as I was that he was going to leave me here. He'd stopped getting dressed, though. I stepped around the foot of the bed and twined my arms around his neck, and Edward hesitated before catching my waist.

"…Okay."

Edward was breathing shallowly as he allowed me to lead him back to the bed. Once there he reclined slowly against my pillows. He was so nervous considering he'd been perfectly fine with ravishing me on this same bed only minutes prior. Oh, and ravish me he had. I was worn out.

Edward waited for me to position us, let his body go limp so I could pull his arm around me and curl up against his chest through his cotton shirt. His skin was so hot but he was shivering, and I half-worried he was running a fever.

I closed my eyes, too tired to reflect on tonight's events and just relieved that Edward was staying after all. He shifted several times beside me under the covers, like he was trying to get comfortable.

"These're nice sheets," Edward said softly.

"Thanks." I smiled into his chest, tightening my own arm around his torso.

Alice had picked them out on a shopping trip to Seattle for home furnishings. 100% Egyptian combed cotton, 800 thread count. They were stupidly expensive, but Alice insisted that something you slept in every night was worth shelling out the money for.

I couldn't have dozed for more than an hour, maybe two, but when I woke up I was alone. I jumped out of the bed and rushed to the window, peering out onto the empty street that was blanketed in fog that reflected the yellow street lamps. Sure enough, Jazz's truck was gone.

*************

**Yikes! So sorry for the delay. I won't make excuses but shit's been crazy and this chapter is like twice as long as they usually are, so hopefully that makes up for it. Please let me know how you feel about my story if you have the time! I love reading and respond to everyone's reviews. I promise the next chapter will take me nowhere near as long as this one did.**

**Edit: In response, to a PM i just received, yes we will be seeing more of Carlisle. :)  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**EPOV**

There is no sound in the world more grotesque than when you step back and listen to yourself, especially when you're crying. It used to happen to me as a child; one second I'd be bawling my eyes out, and the next I'd become aware of the awful, awkward, grating noises I was making. The heaving and the sniffling and obnoxious "wahhh"s and when that happened it would take me right out of the moment. I'd stop crying, too disgusted by my own sound to be able to fully concentrate on my misery or upset any longer. I think my mom probably pointed it out the first time, something simple like "God, listen to yourself" or whatever, and from then on it was only a matter of time before every crying episode ended with that snap of self-awareness. Eventually I stopped crying altogether because I couldn't take hearing it.

No one listens to themselves. Not just crying but like if people really _heard_ themselves when they talk or scream or sneeze or moan while they fuck, it would ruin everything from them. People need that lack of self-awareness to be able to keep doing what they do and not fucking ruin it for themselves. It would suck all the meaning out of their super tenuous lives to see that they were just people doing shit and making noises like everyone else.

I wasn't crying now, though surely some part of me wanted to. I was on my knees on the linoleum of the upstairs bathroom, bearing aural witness to my own emetic and retching noises. The more they reverberated off the tile and back into my ears, reminding me how I was engaged, the sicker I got. It was fucking disgusting in a way listening to Jazz or even some stranger wouldn't have been. Maybe that was the hangover. Was I even hungover yet? Someone told me once that the Japanese word for hangover really meant "next day drunk." It was entirely possible I was still fucking drunk.

After all, I hadn't slept yet. I'd tried to when I got home, but lying down only made me dizzy and nauseous and I'd barely made it to my current position in time. My head was spinning with mental images dancing with each other, getting drowned out by the sounds of vomiting.

"Jesus," I said out loud, whispering it, _hearing_ it.

I'd drunk too much. For the second night in a row I'd gotten completely wasted with no real recovery period and I was sure as hell paying for it now. It was clear in retrospect, doubled over and bracing my elbows on the porcelain, my pulse throbbing in my skull._ Fuck. Shit. _Why did I _drink_ so much?

After I was done, at least for the time being, I walk back to my bedroom door but lacked the courage to give climbing into bed a second shot just yet. Instead I kept stumbling on down the stairs to the kitchen, where I got a glass of water and collapsed into one of the wooden chairs at the table. I tried to bring the glass top my lips but my hands were shaking so badly that even when I held it with both of them I ended up getting water everywhere.

Part of it was that I was sick as hell, but only part of it.

I had done a really really stupid shitty thing. I fucked up for real, not just a little bit but really fucking hard core. I had no idea how I was going to make it better or, ideally, just have it _go away_.

I was going to lose my shit as soon as I regained the mental and physical faculty necessary to do it.

I attempted to open my eyes but still wasn't ready for the brightness of the sunlight streaming in through the window over the sink. Christ, we needed curtains down here. I had them up in my room but no way was I going back upstairs. If nothing else, coming down here had drained me of all my energy and I needed a recovery period before I tried to stand up and operate my body again.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten myself this bad by drinking. I did recall that I was trying to ease off a bit after a few nasty bouts of "next day drunk", avoiding the harder stuff and mostly sticking to beer. So many mornings waking up in an unfamiliar place or situation, with people I didn't know I'd met. One time, in this abandoned office building on the south side with a giant gash on my arm that lacked an identifiable origin. I'd just dusted myself off and gone on home, but it was getting to be so that like I needed to slow down, that it was too many times that way.

Not last night though. Last night I retained every detail of, vividly, the way a man watches his own past actions on a movie screen in his mind and it was not a good movie.

The problem wasn't just that I'd slept with Bella which, yeah, was kind of a big problem even though wasn't that what I'd been so pissed she hadn't given to me before? Except back then however long ago she'd been all about waiting and now we were done waiting, act completed, finish line crossed. And man I'd been so frustrated when Bella wouldn't let me pop her, but somewhere in the back of my booze fogged brain I got that this meant the fact that she slept with me was something to her._ I_ was something to her.

I did not want to be a something to Bella.

So yeah, kind of a major problem on my hands, one that I was not capable of dealing with or even grasping the full scope of just at the moment. That was the thing with sex. People want to screw each other – it's some kind of biological imperative and there're hormones and other complex shit involved. That part, the other complex shit part, was too much. It was like way, _way_ outside, and better to avoid but I couldn't avoid it now. This wasn't going to get better or magically go away. I'd gone and made the huge fucking mess that I didn't know I wanted to make, and I wasn't going to be able to just bail out on it.

Sex had never been particularly good to me – why did I always think it might be different, want to do it anyway? It was never worth it and sometimes it cost a lot more than others. My first time, lets's see, I was about thirteen and I was already in the system by then. There was this older chick at the group home social services had me staying at, and we used to shoplift beers and smoke out and I barely thought of her anymore. What was her name? Redhead. She knew what she was doing, yeah. I had no clue, the sum total of what I knew about sex coming from my mom which was kind of fucked and which I blocked out of my mind like as much as possible.

Women. Not just moms but women in general how they made me uneasy and there was this part of me that wanted them around but honestly they made me cagey as all hell. When they'd flirt and touch it made me anxious because I'd get these mental images that didn't feel right but I liked it at the same time and that was confusing. And then if they _weren't_ happy with me, say if I pissed them off or if they didn't like me, that was so bad too on the other end. And Bella, she was both, and that kind of perplexity was really fucking upsetting. Why had I gone and done that? Why had I _wanted_ to do it?

I was so out of my head right then, sitting at the table huddled up and shivering, that my thoughts weren't making any sense. I wasn't coherent, even to myself, nothing aligning itself. There was sex and women and Bella and my mom and my nausea and my head pounding and the tiny white goosebumps on my skin.

I'd tried to stay, I had, and Jesus Christ after half an hour of lying there with Bella curled up at my side I just needed to get out of there or I would go insane. What was Bella doing now, right now, at her own house? Was she still asleep? Had she noticed yet that I was gone? If she had, was she mad or hurt or what? Did I care?

Yeah, I cared.

_Fuck me. Fuck my life._

I made a second go for my water glass, clasping it as firmly as I could between both of my palms and as much leaning forward into it as bringing it up to my mouth. I managed to get in a couple tiny sips before my stomach began churn and my grip loosened of its own accord. Just as the front door was opening and closing I sat the glass back down at the wrong angle and it tipped on its side, spilling water everywhere.

"Edward, you asshole! That was some real cute shit. I can't believe you- oh, holy shit."

Jazz started off calling through the house as he came in, half-laughing as he did it, but got quieter when he got into the kitchen and found me sitting there. When he saw me fumbling to set the glass upright while backing away from the cold water that was dripping off the table, he stopped talking completely.

He didn't say another word as he went to the sink and got the dish towel, throwing it onto the table where I'd spilled. I stood up to get out of his way and that was when my stomach decided it wasn't quite finished with me yet. I slipped in the water, its clammy coldness on my bare feet leaving me with an achy sickening sensation. Jazz grabbed me and hauled me to the sink just in time for another round of puking.

"You good?" Jazz asked, hands hovering, not in reference to whether I felt okay which I so obviously fucking did not but whether I was going to perform the basic task of standing up on my own if he went back to wiping up.

I ignored him since the level of multitasking required to both vomit and nod my head was beyond me. I hung onto the edge of the counter, my knuckles going pale, and when I finished I leaned there on my elbows staring into the bile-coated aluminum basin.

I did not feel okay. I felt like I was legitimately dying and what's more I welcomed it. Anything had to be better than this. I knew it wasn't just the alcohol, but that was the most acute problem.

Jasper thought so too. He came back and turned on the faucet with one vigorous twist of his wrist to rinse out the sink.

"Done?"

"For now," came my weak reply.

I must have looked like shit, too, my muscles twitching and tensing of their own accord, my stomach doing these jerks that made my whole body spasm. Jazz set me back in my chair and watched me fall forward onto my arms on the table.

"Fucked up."

I communicated in as few words as possible, lacking the energy for more. As in I was and I had. Fucked up. I spoke into the formica, my words muffled by my skin. Jazz flipped around the chair from the other side of the table so that it was kitty corner to me and straddle it with his arms resting on the back.

"Okay, yeah. Yeah, okay, let's get you upstairs man. You can just sleep it off."

Jazz slid his arm under mine to get me back to my feet, and I winced when he rubbed over where Bella'd dragged her nails though my back. I felt shitty enough without him trying to carry me up to my room, so I shrugged him off and staggered until I got to the banister and could cling to it for support. Jasper stood in the foyer and watched me, waiting in case I took a header down the stairs.

"I'd say lesson learned, but I think we already knew this one," he observed.

"Fucking shit man."

"We got any of the special bread of yours left? You should eat something."

"Nuh uh."

If I put something in my belly now it was just going to come right back up again, of that much I was sure. Jazz followed me to my room and looked on from the doorway as I propped my pillows. I was too wary of actually getting supine given what happened earlier.

"Wait, hang on." Jazz came forward now, passing me and going to my pile of laundry in the corner. "Should change into a clean shirt."

I looked down at myself, still in last night's tee and jeans. My bare feet belonged to a corpse, all white how they were.

"You got blood on your back, man. It's dried on your shirt. You can't feel that?"

_Ah, shit._

I raised my head and eyed Jazz. If he was on to me, he didn't say it. However much blood we were talking about, maybe he figured I'd eaten shit trying to get home or something. Did he know? Had Bella said something this morning when he left? Didn't matter, it was going to take him all of two seconds to figure it out. He offered me the shirt in his hand and I crossed my arms over my chest to peel the one I had on over my head.

More blood than I would've guessed. Enough so that the way it dried made the cotton stick to my skin, and it stung to pull loose. I held the shirt inside out and stared at it, two things striking my mind: One, Bella had really gone for it, hadn't she? I'd liked that, I _really_ had, but I was surprised. Two, fuck, I hoped I hadn't gotten blood all on her sheets. Jazz frowned and came around the edge of the room to look at my back, and I didn't try to avoid his gaze because what did I care?

"Yeah, okay." Jazz sighed and tossed the shirt on the bed. "Where's the iodine? Under the bathroom sink?"

He disappeared and I sat down on the edge of my bed to shrug out of my jeans. I was sore everywhere, a combination of dehydration and using muscles that I hadn't used in way too long. Jazz returned with the bottle of iodine and poured some of it onto my dirty shirt to wipe over my shoulders.

"So…"

"Said I fucked up," I pointed out through gritted teeth, cradling my head between my knees. The iodine stung like a bitch.

Silence.

"Yeah?" Jazz asked uneasily. "How… how was that?"

"Fuck…"

How was it? It was fucking amazing, was what it was. I'd been fighting it _so hard_ that when I finally caved it was only about a million God damn times better than it would have been just on its own. There was ultimate satisfaction to be had, watching Bella rocking above me with her head thrown back while I touched her anywhere and everywhere I damn well pleased. Oh and being in her after going so long without that, without a woman, and listening to her, feeling her sweat mix with mine where our bodies met.

At the time, like after she came and I had her on her back and I mean I was really going for it I was thinking, "Why the_ hell _were we avoiding this?" Holy shit. I had been. Avoiding it that is, and I assumed she was too with her whole thing about waiting. I thought for sure Bella would shut me down the second I started anything. That might've been why I tried: the expectation that she'd deny me. This attempt to get out of my system what had been gnawing at me so that like there were these times while we were at that party thing when I would physically turn away from her to clear my head.

Shit, all night I had wanted to touch her so fucking badly. All night she would do the most innocuous, innocent type things like biting her lip or flipping her hair or tugging on the hem of her sweater. She had no idea what she presented, the temptation, the opportunity for some real action. When you seen something you want to get your hands on, someone's careful work you have the compulsion to mess with or like perfection that is begging to be defiled. When the surface of a puddle is still and glassy and you want to crash into it with your boots. That's the instinct. Not to admire it, but to ruin it. To clap you're your hands and send a flock of pigeons scattering.

Right? That wasn't just me, right?

_Fuck._

Bella was that kind of sweetness, I recognized now. I guess I'd always seen it but I was too busy trying to figure out what she wanted from me to understand what I wanted from her. She'd confused the shit out of me and pissed me off and when I was around her I was so tightly coiled, ready to go. I warned Jazz and he didn't get it and now, only now, after I'd gone and shattered that plate window with a rock, did I comprehend how that was what it was to me. How was it? How _was_ it? Only one of the best worst fucks of my God damn life.

That _incredible_ fuck, not just the sex but the feeling of giving in to what my body wanted and I couldn't even handle thinking about it right now because it was getting myself half hard again and that was not something I preferred to associate with the simultaneous desire to throw up or Jazz cleaning off my back.

Jazz got up to put the iodine away and I tugged the clean shirt over my head. It was so old and worn that whatever it had once said was no longer legible, patchy faded white screen printing on the blue gray cotton. I'd never known what this shirt said. I remembered when I'd gotten this shirt: The day I'd been granted parole two stints ago. Normally they just give you whatever you came in wearing, but I hadn't come in wearing a shirt.

That shirt, whichever one I'd been wearing the day I got arrested, was lost in the ether. I'd taken it off to give to Jazz to hold against his side where this motherfucker got him with a knife in the middle of things. I didn't have bail money so I went back and forth between the prison uniform and the clothes my public defender loaned me for my court hearings. I pled guilty so I never saw the outside of a government building again until the day seven and a half months later I'd been given someone's old shirt and sent on my way. Jazz was waiting outside Joliet to take me wherever home was back then, and he told me it was "real purty."

The next time I got sent up Joliet wasn't even a prison anymore. I'd gone to Stateville.

That I still had the shirt now was a testament not to sentimentality but to the fact that clothes are fucking expensive and it fit so what did I care? Except sometimes I wondered what it had said. The way it was laid out and the color made me think it might have been a cop shirt, like with the Cook County police logo, and that was kind of funny. I hoped so.

I swung my legs onto the bed and leaned back, closing my eyes. I was hoping that if Jasper thought I was dozing he'd let things go for now, but no such luck. He sat on the edge of my bed and stretched out his legs on the floor while he toed off his shoes.

"Sorry, but we are talking Bella here, right? Not some other chick?"

Okay, that was fair enough. I didn't answer him, swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth.

Jazz spread out his palms. "Just checking. Uhm. So. Uhm."

He had no idea where to go with it, and I got that because neither did I.

"So you two talked then? How- uh- what was… Are you two…?" Jazz scratched the back of his head and raised his eyebrows at me.

"No."

No like no, we weren't whatever he was trying to ask if we were. No like no, we had not talked, seeing as there had been little talking period once we got back to her place. Bella was a talker, too. She'd want to talk about it, sure she would, seeing as how now we were done holding off and all. It was for real fucked up, what I'd done.

"But you like her." It wasn't a question.

"Fuck you."

"_Come on_ Edward." Jazz contorted his body at the foot of the bed to face me, his frustration evident. "You're a smart guy. Like the smartest person I've ever met maybe. How can you be so fucking dense?"

That was the problem. I'd been dense. I hadn't gotten it before but I got it now, and Jazz had it all wrong.

"I don't think it's like that." I mumbled, my lips barely moving. I sounded scared, which concerned me. If I explained to Jazz about the rock and the window he'd think I was crazy or else full of shit.

Was I?

In my current position one of the muscles in my back was twitching, and I shifted my body looking for a way to get it to stop. I couldn't sleep like this. And I didn't want to be conscious anymore, and even though the very concept of alcohol was too much for me to process, I still understood the appeal it had held for me in the first place. Or in general, like ever. You drink and you think less and eventually you pass out and it's as close to freedom as I got.

I hated that right now, hungover like no other and horrified by my actions, when I closed my eyes I was already picturing doing it again. Soon. Now. I wanted it. She wasn't even here and I wanted her. Bella had a fantastic body, and having it naked against mine... The _things_ we could do… Positions, places I could put my hands on her and I was aching for it and it would be _so good_. I'd thought sex was the finish line? This felt nowhere near like the finish. This felt like _hell_, was what it felt like.

I wanted to cry, and I could hear how that would sound, that unpleasant high pitched sniffling.

"It's not like that," I repeated dumbly, seeing the edge of a cliff appearing in front of me.

"Like hell it's not like that. You're not even acting like you around this chick, man. You're freaking out about her, for one thing. And – let me finish – that's twice now you've been like 'no fighting'. Since when do you give a rat's ass? That asshole deserved it and you fucking know it. And… and you left and you've never… done… that…"

Jazz trailed off, examining me strangely.

He could have meant one of three assholes but in any case he was probably right about them deserving it. It hadn't been about them _or_ about Jazz. What had it been about? I knew I had reasons at the time, and now I tried to think what they were and it made my head ache. I lifted my hand and held my forehead while I rubbed my temple with my thumb.

"Maybe it matters to me whether you get sent up again. You're right. I shouldn't have bailed out on you. That was fucked."

"Man, I don't care about that! That's not even-"

Jazz stopped and stared at me, and his face gradually transformed from irritation to something else I didn't recognize but that I sure as hell did not like.

"Your back's cut up," he stated quietly.

Jazz waited for my reaction to what he was implying about the fact that I'd obviously taken off my shirt to fuck Bella, but that was beyond and my brain just… shut down.

Like what the fuck could I say to that? It didn't matter because… I'd already… with the…

Well, shit.

If I weren't so totally depleted by this point, Jasper's words would have scared the absolute shit out of me. As it was, I couldn't even comprehend them.

I did not want to be a something to Bella. I did _not_ want to be a something to Bella.

"Get some sleep, man. We'll talk about it later, yeah?"

Yeah, sure we would. I had a lot of fucking talking ahead of me.

Maybe I still had it all wrong and I wasn't the angry kid with the rock. Maybe I was the plate glass window.

*************

**Okay, I know this chapter is really heavy, but it's also a turning point. Sorry if anyone was put off by that, but it's all uphill from here right?**

**ETA: I completely forgot to add, someone has let me know that they made a thread to discuss my fic on , so I wanted to give those guys a special shout out. This means you can discuss my fic there and on The_Gazebo on Livejournal. :)**

**Thanks so much to everyone who is taking the time to read my story.  
**


	17. Chapter 17

**BPOV **

Some days, I really missed my father. Not every day, and not as often as I used to. When he first died I was a total wreck. I wasn't so much sad as incredibly, incurably furious with the world around me. It wasn't _right_, it wasn't _fair_. Being the police chief of Forks was supposed to be the safe gig, the better alternative to working on a force in a large city. That was what he'd done when he was younger, before I was born and after my mother left and took me with her. Moving to Fork to run their near-minimal police department was something akin to retirement, a job that consisted primarily of yelling at bored kids and tossing drunks in a cell to sober up overnight.

My father never so much as discharged his weapon when he was working in Seattle, and he was very proud of that fact. His immaculate record was part of what made him so qualified to take over the minuscule department in Forks – that and his easy-going, approachable demeanor. Everyone loved my dad. Even my mom, who left him when I was still a toddler, had to admit there was something about Dad that made you want to trust him. When I was little, I thought she meant the mustache. In truth it was this whole aura, this basic facet of my father's personality that inspired people to want to please him, myself included.

It wasn't as if I constantly asked myself what my dad would do in my position or how he would feel about my current actions. But yeah, sometimes I wondered. Particularly when I was feeling sorry for myself, which I certainly was at the moment. Had I gotten myself into some kind of huge mess, and exactly how disappointed would my father be if he could see me now? His daughter, his only child, and the near-inexplicable poor choices she'd been making as of late?

It was that niggling self doubt that had me driven to distraction. I was beyond hurt that Edward had left without saying goodbye. If I was honest with myself, it was the most savage burn anyone had gotten on me in a good long while, if ever. He had to be able to tell I liked him – God knew I hadn't been coy or subtle about it – so he decided to have some fun with me. Was that it? What else could it possibly be? I wanted to be angry with him, to muster up that furious energy I hadn't been aware I was capable of until the day my father died, in response to being taken advantage of. The best I could manage was a vast sea of self-pity and self doubt coupled with a new understanding of what it was I'd been missing all this time.

As a lover, assuming one could call it that, Edward was amazing. I'd gotten swept up in this utterly stupid haze of passion, mistaking myself during our brief interlude for the heroine of my very own paperback romance. Edward was my dark brooding love interest, galloping onto the scene on horseback to sweep me off my feet… and then I woke up in my bed without my clothes on, alone. Not the sort of fairytale a bored forty-something housewife wants to read while her husband is at work and her kids are in school.

I hid in my room all morning the Sunday after the party, my plan being to wait until the house was empty before I emerged in a blatant attempt to avoid Alice's prying. I got showered and dressed and was out of the house, up on campus, before anyone came home and wanted to talk to me. What with having nothing better to do and all, I figured I might as well get started on the paper that was due in my Modern Lit class. It was going to need to be good, considering Edward had been such an untoward jerk to my professor last night. God, Edward. He wasn't even nice to me, and I'd felt something for him? What the hell was I thinking anymore?

That week it seemed like I was always in a rush – a flurry of activity targeted directly at both keeping my brain occupied and steering clear of everyone, especially anyone who was even tangentially related in any way to the beautiful man who had gotten what he wanted from me and not so much as left a note. I didn't want to think about Edward (though I was). I didn't want to look at people or interact with them any more than absolutely necessary, as that might interfere with my feeling sorry for myself.

In lecture on Monday my Modern Lit professor made it a point to greet me by name as I was slinking to my preferred desk, and after class on Wednesday he did the same while I was turning in my outline for my midterm paper. Dr. Please-Call-Me-Carlisle had never given me the time of day before, and now I was forced to work at not interacting with him in addition to everyone else. And though he didn't bring up Edward, it served as a reminder of his interaction with my erstwhile sex partner that had been such a source of embarrassment for me. From both sides.

The evading was only a temporary security; I understood that. I wasn't going to be able to do things like dart from the shower back to my room in quick bursts for the rest of my life. If all else failed, eventually Alice would camp out in my room waiting to force the conversation while I was helpless and clad only in my towel.

It wasn't the most brilliant case of Sherlock Holmesian deduction ever, to be sure, but somehow Alice and Jazz knew I'd had sex with Edward. Either Edward said something to Jazz, which seemed unlikely given how surprised Jazz had been to learn about the kiss, or else the disappearance of Jazz's truck coupled with my furtive, jumpy attempts at forestalling throughout the week subsequent to the party were a dead giveaway. That last part was so obvious that, had Rosalie cared enough to pay attention, she would have picked up on it instantly.

As it was Rosalie didn't give two hoots. She'd taken the time to voice her opinion that Jazz and Edward were nothing more than a bizarre diversion for Alice and me; our teenage rebellions five years late, so to speak. She liked Jazz because he was a likable guy and because he had decked Mike. She thought Edward's wholesale rejection of Lauren Mallory's advances was the stuff of hilarity. Rosalie swore it wouldn't last for Alice and Jazz for any length of time and that was the end of her contributions to the subject. I'd almost repeated Edward's quip about Emmett's rose tattoo, just out of immature defensiveness, but wisely refrained.

Naturally, Emmett got the hugest kick out of Edward and Jazz. He insisted on inviting them to watch the Seahawks game the coming Sunday, an entire week after Edward's and my little "encounter." I wasn't shocked when Jazz showed up alone bearing a six pack of beer and a bag of chips, but I was very disappointed. Now, Jazz wasn't Edward, not even close, that was for sure. However, he was the nearest I could get to Edward under the circumstances without cornering Edward directly, something I was still far too hurt and insecure to be able to do. I wanted answers, and my best bet for those was going to be Jazz.

As previously stated, Jazz and Alice were on to me. They knew, and I knew they knew, and it was as if the entire game (which "our" team was losing horribly yet again) was spent waiting for it to be over. I'd never cared about football anyway, and I suspected Alice didn't either from the way she spent more of the time in the kitchen preparing far too many snacks for five people even if one of those people was Emmett. I put forth a valiant effort at feigning interest for as long as I could, but at last I gave up and abandoned Jazz, Emmett and Rose to join Alice in the kitchen under the pretense of assisting her.

In my haste to flee Emmett's loud profanity and Rosalie's indignant comments against the coach and referee, I'd forgotten that I was avoiding being alone with Alice. It came back to me in the horrible instant she looked at me with bright eyes and we both realized simultaneously that no one else was in the kitchen.

"Oh my God, Bella, what happened with you and Edward last weekend?" she demanded, demonstrating her excitement on my behalf. "Jazzy's truck was here when we got home and the kitchen light was on so I know you were home and then the truck was gone in the morning so that means Edward was here too wasn't he? What _happened_?"

She was only being courteous by pretending she wasn't already sure of what transpired, and she doing a piss-poor job of it at that.

"Edward and I slept together," I admitted cautiously, pretending to peer over her shoulder at the platters of food she was replenishing. Alice's face lit up for a second, only to fall when she noticed I wasn't sharing her ebullience.

"Was he bad?" she asked in a low voice so as not to be heard by anyone in the living room. Getting quieter still, she added, "Did he have a small-"

"Alice!" I gave her a scandalized look and she shrugged. "You've been spending way too much time with Rosalie."

"_Well_?" Alice was typically lacking in contriteness.

I sighed. "No he wasn't bad and no he didn't… uhm… look I don't know. The point is, it was… I mean, it was good, I was just kind of…"

Kind of what? What was the word I was looking for here? Strange? Wonderful while it was going on? Unusual? Unexpected? Definitely unexpected.

Alice arched her eyebrow skeptically and situated herself in a more comfortable position resting against the counter.

Alice was normally a verbose kind of person. When I told her how Edward had just come onto me out of nowhere and that after we'd had amazing, fantastic, scrapbook-worthy sex he had to be convinced to stay and that, even then, he'd ducked out the second he could… Well. She just stared at me while flicking her tongue over her upper teeth.

Unable to stand such an awkward response, I busied myself with taking over arranging food on plates. Oh God. I really _was_ making a disaster of my young life, wasn't I? Somehow Alice must have been able to tell what I was thinking, because she chose my moment of inner upset to finally voice her reaction to my torrid tale.

"Maybe… wow. I dunno, Bella. He's not… Maybe you and Edward just aren't right for each other."

That was it? Alice's big advice on the matter? That we weren't _right_ for each other? Damn it, of _course_ we weren't right for each other. Edward and I were in reality all _wrong_ for each other, weren't we? If you put it down on paper, made some kind of comparison chart, he and I had absolutely nothing in common and our relationship thus far had been, from what I could tell, entirely either antagonistic or sexual. I wasn't stupid. I could see that. But last weekend I hadn't cared, had I? In fact, any moment that I was with Edward I didn't care.

That was it right there. I'd gotten swept up in hurricane Edward, doing severe damage off the coast of Bella. The southern _and_ northern coast, if you catch my meaning, and there had to be a next move from here but I hadn't the foggiest idea what it could be. In my desperation I'd confided it the girl who was supposed to be my best friend in the world, and that was what she had to offer? That perhaps Edward wasn't _right_ for me? I wanted to scream at her.

"Well you know what they say about opposites," I told Alice blithely. I was waiting for her to disagree with me so I could point out that she and Jazz were similarly ill-matched, but Alice didn't take the bait. She was a big fat – well, a cute tiny – hypocrite, was what she was.

"Bella, far be it from me to tell you who to be interested in or if you could do better, but-"

She was only trying to help, but Alice wasn't giving me the answers that I wanted to hear.

"Then _don't_," I seethed, shoving festively colored toothpicks into squares of cheese.

Considering the way Emmett ate, Alice was lucky he hadn't punctured his esophagus on one of said toothpicks. Perhaps that was why she'd chosen brightly colored ones. I harbored a private theory that Emmett did not necessarily taste all of his food in the hasty process of eating it. I had ample enough empirical evidence in the form of neglected expiration dates from weeks prior on empty containers I found in the waste bin after he'd been over.

I don't know what either of us would have said next if Jazz hadn't come in, also looking bored with the football game though Lord knew he was too agreeable to ever say so. He glanced between Alice and me in our pouty standoff and scrunched up his face.

"Everything cool?" Jazz asked lightly. He came over to where I stood by the counter and poked at one of the cheese cubes, flicking the toothpick playfully to knock it over as he spoke.

"Oh I don't know," I said hotly, folding my arms over my chest and glaring at Alice as I addressed Jazz. "Alice was just telling me I could do better than your best friend, Jazz. What do you think?"

"Uh…" Jazz blinked at me, the veritable deer in headlights. His hand hovered over the plate of hors devours.

"That's not what I said," Alice interjected hastily, coming forward to put her hand on Jazz's arm.

"Your _exact words_ were 'far be it from me to tell you that you could do better.' That's _exactly_ what you said." I was being unnecessarily cruel, bringing this up with Jazz there, but I'd reached the end of my rope. "Which is a nice sentiment and all, except if I'm too good for Edward then how come_ he's_ the one not calling _me_?"

"Because he's a jerk," Alice blurted, leaving Jazz's side to wrap her arm around me. "Okay? He's a total jerk and I'm sorry Jazz but yeah, Bella, you _could_ do better."

"Hey, woah!" Jazz snapped back into action then, standing up straight and reminding me just how tall he was. Which was _tall_.

Alice and I both looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I don't- I don't know exactly what you're all talking about or what happened but _no one_ is too good for Edward," Jazz stated simply, as if this was an obvious fact. He hesitated, checking Alice's face before going on, "Edward's… Edward's better than everyone. You don't get it is all."

"What is there to get?" Alice wanted to know, the challenge clearly present in her voice. If we got much louder we were going to attract attention from Emmett and Rosalie, whose team honestly needed them a lot more than we did.

The next few seconds were spent watching Alice and Jazz stare each other down silently, and I was genuinely concerned that I had inadvertently caused a fight between them. Whatever happened between Edward and I had nothing to do with anyone else, when it came down it, and while maybe I should have been worried that it was having a negative effect on my friend, instead I was mad that they were taking my angst from me. I pulled free of Alice's half-embrace and stormed out of the kitchen to the driveway.

I hated all of them right at that moment: Edward and Alice and Jazz and my nosy, condescending professor and Emmett and Rose and everyone who wasn't able to somehow discern exactly what it was I wanted or needed and just give it to me already. There it was. There was the anger, and it was no improvement on the hurt. However long I was outside like that, it didn't make me feel even a little bit better.

When someone finally did come to check on me it wasn't Alice or even Rosalie. It was Jazz who unceremoniously dropped to sit beside me and folded his legs up crosswise. He let out a soft sigh that I might have imagined and bent his head first to the left and then the right, cracking his neck.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Do I look okay?!" I barely didn't yell at him.

"Mm." Jazz began feeling in the pockets of his jeans. "Alice is uh… she's making food and stuff."

He pulled out a plastic bag and held it up for me to examine. Through the grubby stains on the plastic I recognized the clear outline of a glass object. Jazz pulled it out and I saw it was a marijuana pipe.

"People can see you," I told him, annoyed. Jazz shrugged and smiled to himself as he fiddled with his illicit stash.

"Countin' on decriminalization."

He pushed his thumb into the bowl end of the pipe, smushing what I had to assume was marijuana into it. Not that I hadn't see pot before but that I… Really I guess I hadn't seen pot before. The guys smoked it at La Push, but not when I was around. Mike and his friends were more into drinking.

"What?"

"Decriminalization. It's like... It's this thing Edward told me about. How the state of Washington has filed this bill to make it so like if you have less than a certain amount of pot then it's not a crime and they don't bother to arrest you or anything. And it hasn't passed yet but everyone's already following it anyway, 'specially in small towns like this."

"Nice to see people are taking the war on drugs seriously," I muttered. Not that I thought smoking some pot should be this huge felony but damn it, my dad died for a reason.

Jazz looked at me thoughtfully, then just shoved his pipe back in its Ziploc and stuck it in his pocket without another word on the subject. Instead he returned to the topic I was most anxious not to revisit.

"He's really smart, you know? Like I don't think I know anyone smarter than Edward." Jazz licked his lips. "And he's really… I don't mean to hurt your feelings or whatever, but Edward's a good guy and you don't get… damn it. What I mean is he's a good guy. And you don't know why he's not calling you but it's not what you think it is."

"Then what is it?" This was it; this was my chance to get answers.

Jazz unfurled his long arms out in front of him, letting them dangle off his knees while he twisted and wriggled his fingers at the air, physically reaching for the words he wanted to say.

"You really mess with him. Like I know you don't mean to, leastwise any more than a girl ever means to mess with a guy, but he likes you and it's fucking with him."

Oh, that was rich. _I_ was screwing with _Edward's_ head? Excuse me, but I believed I'd made my intentions pretty clear. Of course Jazz was biased, but he had to see how ridiculous that was.

"Leave me alone, okay?" Directness had to be the best approach here.

Except Jazz didn't make any move to get up.

"Listen. You're not_ listening_," he shook his head, frustrated. "I got no one, Bella, see, except Edward. And he's always there for me because that's how he does. And so maybe you think he's this big asshole but who takes care of you, huh? Edward's had to deal with some heavy shit Bella. Did you ever think maybe that makes some stuff harder for him than it would be for other people?"

A burning sensation crept up into my throat from my lungs, filling both with dry ache.

"Don't you do that. Don't you make it like I did anything wrong here," I insisted.

"I _know_ you didn't, not really, but if Edward- it's not his fault, is all I'm saying, the way he's- he's fucked up inside, like there's nothing wrong with him okay? And don't think there is. But sometimes it's fucking hard and if you can't get that, that some stuff is just a total freak out for him then… shit Bella, _you're_ not good enough for _him_."

Jazz got to his feet then and walked not inside but around the back of the house, presumably to smoke his "decriminalized" herbs. I was left to try and fail to grasp the meaning of his words.

I didn't like what Jazz said but nor could I ignore it. The full scope of it wouldn't hit me until the dead of night, when I sat upright in my bed in the proverbial cold sweat, my heart pounding. I didn't know everything that had transpired in Edward's childhood, but I'd had a good strong glimpse of it. And yeah, I could see how that would affect his future choices. I'd been willing to accept that Edward's criminal tendencies were a direct result of his childhood and the horror found there.

Whether he was right or just following the natural impulse to stick up for his friend, Jazz had given me a lot to worry about. My anger was deflated, insecurity taking its place. I pictured two year old Edward, the things his mom must have done and… _God_. It was beyond me. The bottom line was that comprehending it was just totally beyond me. And if Jazz was trying to tell me that was why Edward blew so hot and cold with me… Well, I had no idea what to think about any of that. What could I do to understand?

It was enough to completely encompass my thoughts, so much so that it wasn't until I was already sitting in lecture Monday afternoon that I recalled I had a paper due. Now.

I panicked when I pictured my paper sitting at home, finished with two whole days to spare and waiting in its crisp, pristine black and white state for me to hand it over to Dr. Call-Me-Carlisle. Except I couldn't hand it over to Carlisle, and the walk from campus to my house was just long enough that I didn't have time to make it home and back before class ended. The best I could do was sit there silently flipping out until the clock signaled lecture was over and throw all of my things together to catch up with my professor. He liked me, or at least he seemed to anyway. Maybe he would understand. I _had_ the paper, it was _done_, I just didn't _have_ it.

This was the one day Carlisle was in a rush too, and by the time my notebook and textbook were gathered he was gone. I was so flustered by then that I stumbled and fell while rushing down the steps in the aisle of the lecture hall, and it hurt to try and run after that pompous jerk. Switching tacks I pulled out my cell phone to call Rosalie. If she was at the house I could find and stall Carlisle while she brought me my paper. Alice would be in class for another half hour, so Rosalie was my only shot.

The call went straight to her voicemail, meaning I was out of luck on that. I made a second perfunctory attempt to locate my professor in the parking lot, my mind awhirl with possible lines I could give him. I didn't need to lie, and I shouldn't have to. People made mistakes like this. I had done the work! I finally found him just as he was getting into – unsurprisingly – a champagne colored Lexus in the corner of the faculty lot. I took a moment to compose myself and approached.

"Ah, Bella. How are you? How's your young man?" He bent over halfway to fit his satchel onto the passenger seat and straightened up again.

"He's fine," I answered impatiently, "But look, I really need to talk to you about my paper."

Even as I spoke, Carlisle was already checking his watch.

"I'm afraid it's going to have to wait until Wednesday, Bella. I'm in kind of a rush, and everyone's papers are already locked up in my office. But listen: How did you and your fellow – Edward, was his name? – happen to meet, out of curiosity?"

When he mentioned Edward's name I tensed. I was not at all interested in having this conversation and if he had time to ask about Edward then he had time to hear me explain about my paper. Also, "fellow"? Really? This wasn't the fifties, and Carlisle wasn't my great-grandfather. His tone often conjured up images of him in a different setting, perhaps lounging on a back patio somewhere enjoying a fancy cocktail with a sweater loosely fastened around his neck. He had show up to class dressed in such a fashion at least once to my memory.

"Yeah, Edward. Uh, just by chance I guess. I'm really sorry, but-"

Without allowing me time to finish responding he began climbing into the driver's seat.

"Quite the young man you've got there. Very fascinating, isn't he?" Fascinating, as though Carlisle found Edward to be this strange specimen worth examining. Or like when zookeepers tell you that the monkeys are surprisingly intelligent and can peel bananas with their feet.

"Oh, yeah, I guess…" I mumbled, defeat looming as a black cloud overhead.

"I have grad students who have difficulty understanding some of Barthes's more esoteric concepts. Was he merely jesting about the penal system? Surely…?"

It bothered me. I was bothered by the way Carlisle spoke about Edward. I hitched my bag over my shoulder again to adjust it and shook my head firmly.

"He wasn't joking. And yeah, I guess he's a really smart guy." Not my fellow, to use Carlisle's term, but a damn smart guy. "The thing about my paper is-"

"Don't worry, I should have plenty of time on Wednesday," he assured me. "Oh, watch your feet!"

I had to jump back to avoid getting knocked by Carlisle's car door as he swung it shut, and then he was starting his engine to drive away. Nothing left for me to do but watching in utter dread as he drove out of the lot and slink home.

I was ridiculously freaked out about my essay, so it wasn't until I was most of the way back to the house that I was able to see any parallel between Carlisle's regard of Edward and my own, and when I did it made me so suddenly and acutely nauseous that I had to stop walking and lean against someone's brick planter to get a hold of myself. That was enough that now when I wasn't hurt that he'd made no attempt to contact me I was upset with myself for reasons I couldn't put into words.

If I'd previously entertained the notion that school and my upcoming midterms would be sufficient to distract me, I knew now that the opposite was the case. When I should have been reading up on Flannery O'Conner's bleak vision human nature, I was wondering when I would see Edward again and how it would be when I did. I'd finished the paper eventually but then completely spaced on actually bringing it to hand in, and then the problem was that I wasn't the only one who'd rather think about Edward than my assignment. Carlisle had blown me off, and now I had two _massive_ problems on my hands.

Bastard. I hated how hung up on Edward I was, but I hated even more that I just want to have him nearby again. I, Bella Swan, was grotesquely infatuated with the worst possible subject of infatuation. And now, look: that same borderline obsession was going to end up costing me my grade. For what? For a guy who vacillated wildly from hating me in one minute to throwing me down on my bed and ravishing me the next? And perhaps it was asking too much to have wanted to Edward to spend the night, given that the idea of hanging around for another five minutes seemed to be throwing him into some kind of panic attack, but it would have been nice to receive some type of confirmation that he wasn't just in it to nail me. Or _was_ he just in it for sex, and Jazz was full of shit defending him? Jazz _was_ a liar, after all.

And was I going to fail my class over this? And if so, what the hell was I supposed to do then?

It was times like this, at the pinnacle of my frustration and impatience with every other aspect of my life, that I missed my father. I wouldn't have divulged details of my sex or romantic life to him, certainly not, but being around him, but I could have told him about my paper and he would have sympathized. Just listening to my father talk in his calm, methodical way… that would have been enough. It would have calmed me down and helped me figure out what I thought I was doing and what my next steps should be. And maybe, probably, certainly, if Dad were still alive, I never would have gotten wrapped up in all this craziness with Edward. If nothing else, I wouldn't have been able to stand the guilt and panic that was gnawing at me even now.

Home, in my bedroom, was where Alice and Jazz found me two and a half hours later, long after I'd finished crying. I was telling myself over and over again that things were not as bad as they seemed, but in truth my life, while boring, had once had structure and now was ripping apart at the seams, spilling its guts and my tears all over the place. Alice asked what was wrong and the answer was "everything", but I just told her about the paper. I repeated Carlisle's refusal to discuss it with me without his commentary on Edward and Alice bore an appropriately empathetic expression as I prattled.

"I can just – I can just bring it in on Wednesday and explain right? He'll remember I tried to talk to him and take it from me then? Oh God, it's worth like a third of my grade and he said no late assignments and what am I going to do?!"

"I'm sure he'll understand, Bella," Alice promised me, but that wasn't something she could know any more than I did.

Jazz watched Alice comforting me and by now he had to think I was this emotional wreck of a human being. He leaned idly against the doorframe and waited until it seemed like both Alice and I were done talking before he spoke up.

"He said the papers were locked in his office until Wednesday?" Jazz clarified.

I nodded dumbly, not sure why Jazz cared. At least he was making the effort to show concern? We hadn't parted on the best terms the last time we spoke. Maybe this was Jazz's way of letting me see he was cool with me again.

"Oh well then that's like no problem Bella. The janitors, what? They just lock up all the buildings and go home every night?"

"Yeah…" Alice agreed cautiously. She didn't get it any more than I did.

Jazz's face lit up like a little kid's.

"Then yeah, like I said. No problem. We can just go get Edward."

Edward. I was having a real academic crisis here, one that through no intent of his own Edward was indirectly responsible for, and Jazz wanted to drag him into this? What good could that even do, given the circumstances? How was Edward going to make me feel better? What would Edward even care? He hadn't liked Carlisle and he'd thought the man's class was stupid. The only way I'd even want to see Edward right now was if… wait… why did it matter whether the English building was empty and locked?

"Jazz, I really don't think-" Alice began. She stopped, though and looked up at him curiously. She was figuring out Jazz's implications at about the same speed I was. "What would we need Edward for?"

Jazz grinned, baring his model-perfect white teeth.

"To break into the office."

*************

**Okay, whew! First of all, I just want to give Feathersmmmm for recommending my story to all her readers. That was super nice! If anyone wants to check her stories, the link is here:**

**fanfiction****[dot]****net/u/1753937/feathersmmmm**

**Second, I have a couple links for you guys, to The Gazebo and Twilighted. These people were nice enough to recommend my story, and I want to return the favor by promoting their communities!**

**community****[dot]****livejournal****[dot]****com/the_gazebo  
**

**twilighted****[dot]****net**

**I also want to say thank you all so much for the reviews. I admit I was overwhelmed by the deluge and I tried my best to respond to everyone but I lost track. If I didn't get to you, I'm really sorry; I'll keep trying. I will say this: I read every review, and I am getting a huge kick out of everyone's usernames! So no pressure to leave a review, but if you do I'd LOVE to hear where you got the idea for your username from.**

**Next chapter is already mostly written so look for it in another couple days. And again, thank you all so much for reading!**

**:)  
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	18. Chapter 18

**EPOV**

True to my own prediction, I flipped the fuck out the very minute I was alone again. Not like this huge crying jag or anything like that. I rubbed my hands along my thighs for a while, feeling the denim against my palms and fingers until they were numb. I lay on my bed punching the wall about a dozen times, long after my knuckles had split and there was blood smeared across them and the paint. I balled up in the fetal position on the sofa with my arms hugging my torso and my eyes squeezed tightly shut for the next 18 hours.

So I had this problem on my hands, what to do about Bella. Jazz thought I liked her. That I had a past the sexual romantic kind of thing for her. Did I? Was I even _capable_ of that? I didn't want to like her, and I hadn't thought I did. Really, the idea had not consciously occurred to me until Jazz introduced it, even after… whatever I'd done. I'd figured that was one of those abilities my body didn't come with, a function I wasn't meant to perform. And then, of all people, Bella comes along and Jazz acts like it's the biggest fucking deal in the world.

When Jazz and I talked about it later, when he came out and said, "I think you like Bella," it had been a screwed up conversation for sure. What was I supposed to come back with in response to that, exactly? At least he didn't _ask_ me if I had a thing for her, because then I really wouldn't have had an answer. How the hell would I know if I liked someone? What did that even feel like? How could you tell? I did tell Jazz that sometimes, I thought maybe I hated Bella.

Jazz was downright abrupt about it, lacking the ability to buffer himself or dress up his speech in any way. He called me an idiot and told me this was a splinter that needed to be worked to the surface. Like finally, finally there was something, anything there inside of me that was accessible and could possibly be gotten at and named and defined. Jazz didn't give two shits what it was – that part was irrelevant as far as he was concerned. It was in the process, the working it out of me until I could recognize it. That was the important part.

And just like with everything else Jasper told me, now I could see what he meant.

Every time I sat down and tried to think about Bella, to unravel this huge messy knot in my head, I'd just end up going around and around in circles and making it worse. I wanted to see her again. I didn't want to see her again. I wanted to feel her body. I was terrified to get into any situation where I could touch her or be alone with her, because no joke I would behave in a way that let her know I wasn't normal, and she'd probably figured that part out on her own by now. I might run. I might tear her up like a starving animal. God knew.

There was too much energy in me for me to be able to contain it or express it in any known way. I tried reading but I couldn't sit still. I tried getting up and pacing around, but that was no good either. Finally I took to exploring the woods around the house, recalling how Bella said there weren't any dangerous animals out here. I was that pacing, prowling beast, _La Bestia, _restless in my overwhelming vigor. I calmed down eventually and got myself back under control by midweek, and then my method was to just not think about it at all.

I didn't want to label it fear; that sounded weak. I wasn't afraid of Bella, no. I wasn't afraid of anything. I could be that numb, untouchable thing. And what a stupid thing to freak out over, anyway. A pretty girl? People like that, they were harmless, weren't they? I'd never personally known a person like that but that was how it seemed to me. Sure she slapped me once and that was… I didn't like thinking about that. I told myself it wouldn't happen again ever and if it did I would somehow magically find a way to deal with it but I was way too familiar with that kind of rationalization.

After planting that initial seed of thought in my brain, Jazz left it to germinate and take root like rampant weeds. This past Saturday when we'd gone to La Push to finished up Mrs. Clearwater's roof I'd barely spoken to him at all, and he'd barely spoken back. I thought we'd reached this understanding, this sense of "Edward is in a bad mood and needs to be left the fuck alone." Everything about my body language and words conveyed it and Jazz knew how to play along with that game. He was spending most of his time over at Alice's to facilitate giving me my space, and I appreciated that. He didn't bring up Bella again, or Alice, or any of that. The most he ever said to me was "Do you need anything from town?" or "Jesus fucking Christ I am never going to get on a roof again after this."

And then he came into my room out of _nowhere_ and told me I had to help get into an office so Bella could turn in some fucking paper. Just like that, he decided he was going to force the issue. I knew he was only trying to help, but at that moment I could have cheerfully smashed his face into the ground. I was sprawled on my stomach on my bed, hugging the pillow my head was resting on, and I made a point of staring at the wall as an alternative to looking at Jazz. He _would_ try to pull this shit with me, the interfering bastard. Everything in my body told me I wanted to haul off and belt him solid in the gut, and I knew I couldn't so I didn't face him.

The whole situation with Bella, and by "situation" I mean nailing her, had totally thrown me out of myself. Everything I did depended upon my ability to keep a lock on things, and I resented Bella's existence so much.

"Let me get this straight. Bella was too dumb to get her thing in on time, so you want me to _break into a fucking building._"

Leave it to Jazz, his first line solution to a minor problem being to commit a felony.

Jazz didn't a flying fuck about Bella's paper, not really. It was distinctly possible he didn't care about Bella herself, either, and that would not have surprised me. Jazz had a strange priority system and an even weirder way of going about enforcing it, and right now he was actually just trying to do me a solid by coming up with an excuse to make me see Bella again. For that reason, I couldn't justify being as pissed as I was. Maybe I wasn't even pissed. Maybe it was something else.

In this very weird, masochistic way, just the idea of seeing Bella again made my body and head so strange, doing things I didn't recognize because I'd never felt that way before. It wasn't me being horny, that much I could tell. Since last weekend I'd had absolute zero compulsion to get laid or even jack off, the mere thought of it causing my head to ache and my gut to twist. In no way could that be healthy. My body was electric now, nerve endings and whatever the hell else, my skin heating.

"Be a great way to apologize for blowing her off," Jazz commented lightly, going over to the window to look out into the dark driveway.

Oh yeah, and then there was that. _Fuck._

The best excuse I had for avoiding Bella was that I didn't know what to say, but it was more accurate to say I was not ready to be put in that circumstance and trying to find something to tell her that wouldn't make me come off as the absolute fucking basket case I apparently was. And after talking to Jazz I'd gotten this feeling of impending doom. There was this idea that I'd completely screwed myself over and I was putting off dealing with it for as long as I could. That was self-preservation at its finest, the need to protect myself from whatever was trying to make itself known and whatever was happening inside me.

"You're out of your fucking mind," I mumbled into my pillow. "Like when? Like tonight?"

"Yeah, I mean I guess. Total cake job. Anyway I already promised her we would."

The bed bounced as Jasper sat on the edge of it. I half rolled over and refocused my gaze on the ceiling, still not ready to look him in the eye.

"I didn't promise shit."

Who was I kidding though? We could argue about this for hours and at the end of the day Jazz would win. Not due to being in the right, which he wasn't, but because he was a manipulative son of a bitch and when he wanted something he would find a way to get it, and because ultimately I could never say no to him when it mattered. We were friends. We were each other's only friend, really, there for each other to pick up the pieces and haphazardly stick them together so that they most closely resembled what other people can just be automatically. And he was trying to help.

I gave up with less of an argument than Jazz probably expected, sliding off the bed and digging around underneath it for my tools. They had to be around somewhere, stashed away unused since well before moving here because I just didn't feel like doing that kind of thing anymore. Remembering how I did back in Chicago left a bad taste in my mouth. I found the canvas roll at the bottom of a cardboard box and blew the dust off of it before addressing Jazz.

"Don't leave me alone with her. Do you hear me? I don't want to be alone with Bella."

"I got you."

Bella and Alice were back at their place still, "getting ready." He assured me that it would take almost no time, as if he could possible know that, and that Bella would be insanely grateful and cut me some slack. Jazz had left plenty of time to convince me, a smart move on his part. We didn't leave for Port Angeles until just after midnight. I showered and shaved first, seeing as how I hadn't done either in too long, and it was not lost on me how dumb it was that I was preparing that way. I looked like shit, frankly, after the fucked up week I'd had, so there was no point in trying. And I didn't need to look decent to bust into a building. This wasn't like some kind of date. Not even close.

I wasn't anxious, just numb and a little pissy. I made sure several times during the drive that Jazz understood I was doing this for him, not for Bella. Not because I wanted to say yes to her but because I didn't want to say no to him. Jazz shrugged me off.

"Man… don't lie," he told me when we were almost there, grinning. "You missed this. You've been bored, you know? You need to do shit to keep your mind occupied."

Oh, right, that was Jazz. Just looking out for my sense of purpose.

It was a Monday night and Bella's neighborhood was totally quiet save a dog that started barking when Jazz pulled his truck up to the curb. The door to the house was unlocked and Jazz let us in, which told me how comfortable he'd made himself here. This was all one big game for him. Not just tonight, with the stunt we were about to pull, but all of it. How far did he think he was going to be able to take it before Alice got bored or otherwise got over him and it was game over?

I looked around the kitchen just as Bella and Alice came in, Bella smiling timidly at me. Man, why did she have to go and do that? She looked exactly the same as she had before, and for some reason that was strange to me. I guess I expected something to be wildly different now that I felt different. Now that I'd done what I did.

I had to smirk, though. In their black pants and sweaters, the girls were this ridiculous mockup of how they thought criminals were supposed to dress. Jazz thought it was funny too, and he was holding back a laugh when I turned to him.

"Seriously, Jazz? What are we, fucking Scooby Doo?" I wanted to know.

"What's Scooby Doo?" Jazz asked, cocking his head as he wracked his memory for some past mention of it. Bella gave him a look of utter disbelief that made me grit my teeth.

The thing about Jazz was he'd grown up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere Texas, no TV or whatever, and that he'd missed out on some useless stuff. By the time he got out of there and away from his family, who I didn't have to know to hate with everything in me based on what Jasper'd told me, he was too old for some shit and his priorities weren't exactly keeping up on the latest useless junk people used to numb their heads. So he didn't know what Scooby Doo was. Bella probably hadn't any clue how to work on that kid Jake's truck.

The great thing about Jasper was, he understood he was behind on some stuff and he didn't care. He was so unapologetic about himself, didn't play along when he didn't know. People are always afraid of looking dumb, but Jazz didn't care and he wasn't dumb. He always knew exactly what he was doing, and he carried no illusions about who he was. Yeah he liked to stir shit up, but that was just to entertain himself. I didn't know where he'd picked up that particular habit but it basically wasn't hurting anything.

"It's a cartoon," I explained to Jazz, ignoring Bella. "Doesn't matter."

"They made it into a movie a few years ago, and that was really cute," Alice contributed, beaming at Jazz. I decided right then that Alice was okay, that she did alright when it came down to it.

"Ah, cool," Jazz agreed, nodded and smiling like that was enough for him.

"But for real, all four of us?" That wouldn't attract any attention at all, oh no. Especially when two of us looked like we were specifically out to break the law.

"Well we need Bella to tell us which office," Jazz said thoughtfully, "And you and me obviously, 'cause you need someone to post up, and I dunno."

He glanced down at Alice then back up at me. He just wanted to bring her along just because, and he was lucky I was feeling so kindly disposed toward her right then. Okay so yeah, all four of us. Like Scooby Doo.

"Change your clothes," was all I said to Bella and Alice.

They shuffled out of the kitchen and Jasper watched me set my kit out on the table to double check my gear. I didn't expect this to be tough, but when I was already going out of my way the last thing I needed was to have to drive all the way back to our house in the middle of it to get something I'd forgotten.

"Should be easy," Jazz offered, fingering my set of jiggler keys idly. "We saw the building yeah? That big one by where the party was and it was old."

It wasn't the locks I guessed were going to give me trouble. I had no explanation for myself as to why I'd agreed to do this, and it was better not to wonder.

I bundled up my tools again and fixed the Velcro strap before sticking them back in my sweatshirt pocket. If I had to I could dump the entire thing in one throw, in the event I found myself in trouble. Owning lock picking tools wasn't illegal in Washington like it was in some other states, but if you were already being arrested for something else it could be added as an additional charge.

"This is so dumb. Her teacher'd let her turn her paper in late if she just flashed him some tit."

Jazz rapped his knuckles on the table with finality.

"Yeah but this way she doesn't have to."

"Just don't leave me alone with her," I reminded him.

Jazz grinned at me innocently. _Fucker._

"Yeah… uhm, thank you, by the way. For doing thing, I mean."

Bella had reappeared in the kitchen and was looking at me sheepishly. She was wearing this tight red sweater now, and it looked so good on her. I was checking her out and she had to know it; I was so busy staring at her body and remembering what it was like under her clothes that it took me way too long to answer her.

"Right."

The walk to the campus took us less time than before since we had a sense of purpose. Bella told Jazz and I everything she remembered about it, like how many floors and entrances there were. I asked if there was an alarm system and she was pretty sure there wasn't. Not certain, but mostly confident. What great planning. We made it back to the same building we'd been the other night and I stopped short when I saw our first main obstruction: A fence that had previously not been then, surrounding the entire building. I clicked my tongue and looked down at Bella.

"Forget to mention something?"

"Oh!" she folded her arms around her torso in this self-hug and shook her head. "That wasn't there earlier. It wasn't. I swear." _Right. _

The fence was only about 10 feet tall, not enough for any real security but just to let people know where they weren't supposed to be. The padlock holding together the chain that ran through the makeshift gate was a big one, and I guessed the fence company had provided that themselves. I could open it, sure, but that would take a lot of effort that wasn't necessary. I walked directly up to the fence and hooked my hands into the metal of one of the posts, seeing if I'd be able to lift a section of it. No dice. I raised my eyebrow at Jazz.

"'Kay," he agreed.

Jazz took a running start at the fence and got most of the way up it just by momentum. He held onto the top of it while he swung his legs over, then hung down on the other side for a few seconds to be cute before dropping to the ground. _Jackass._

"Alice?" I knelt by the fence and locked my fingers to give her a boost. She was a lot shorter than Bella, so better to get her over with first.

"You won't fall," Jazz assured Alice when she hesitated, and wasn't that precious? Jesus.

Alice stepped into my hands gingerly, afraid I wouldn't be able to hold her weight which downright insulting. I stood up quicker than I had to so she got that I had her, and she let out a gasp of surprise as she gripped the top of the fence and flailed with her other foot. It took her a second to find a spot for it on the fence, and I moved in closer to lift her up higher.

"You go it?" I grunted.

As soon as Alice was on the other side Jazz had his arms out to catch her, and she fell into them more than climbed down. Next up was Bella, and I knelt down again figuring she's get the prompt. Bella was a little more adept at fence jumping than Alice, it turned out, and I was bizarrely pleased to find this out. She didn't waver on hopping up onto my locked fingers, and I boosted her to the top of the fence in one smooth motion. She still didn't know how to get back down on the other side and Jazz caught her too.

It felt as if it took too long for Jazz to set Bella on the ground, and I was forced to remind myself that in only slightly altered circumstances he could easily be popping her instead of Alice. I knew enough about him to know he wouldn't now, but I was inexplicably pissed at him for those few seconds he was setting her upright anyway. That was messed up.

I took the fence at a run same as Jazz, landing in a low crouch on the other side. Easy enough, so far so good. From there I walked around the outer edge of the concrete area where the party had been and moved us behind a large brown dumpster. Large branches were sticking out of it, making it obvious that tree trimming was the source behind the temporary chain link fence. Couldn't blame Bella for that one then, at least.

"Okay so…" Jazz looked up at the building, giving it a cursory scan.

The way to do this right would have been to come here in the day time, preferably a few days beforehand. That way you can really get a solid look at the building and what kinds of doors it has, even go inside and poke around some. The best I had to rely on was Bella's memory, and I didn't know how good that was.

"Jazz and I'll do a lap," I decided, turning my attention back to the girls. "You guys just… stay right here and- oh, wait. You both have cell phones right?"

They nodded in unison.

"Alright one of you give me your phone and then if you have to, like if some drives up, you can call us." Even if there was only one rusty old security guard on duty, but he had to come by this part of the campus sometime.

Alice fished in her pocket and produced a pink plastic oval that she set in my palm. It had a smooth surface on both sides except for a little white plastic kitten head with a bow, so I guessed it opened up, but damned if I could see how. I stared down at it, trying to figure out which edge to flip, and Alice extended her hand to take it back.

"You slide it." She demonstrated by clicking it to one side, producing about a million God damn buttons. She had to be joking.

"Here, take mine." Bella pulled out her own phone and slapped it into my waiting palm. "It flips open – just like that – and that's also how you answer it, just by flipping it. It's already on vibrate so just… oh and Alice was the last person I called so if you hit that big green button twice it'll call her."

I flicked my eyes up from the phone to Bella's expectant features and nodded once to let on that I got it.

When we got to the front entrance of the building Jazz clicked on his flashlight and carefully shined it through the glass. He played it slowly along the walls, and Bella was right: no alarm keypad anywhere. How long would it take to hoist both girls back over the fence and book it if an alarm did go off? Serious pain in my ass. The doors themselves were the kind that were all glass and opened with a magnetic key cards, so we sure as hell weren't getting in that way. There's a method to opening those kinds of doors, but you have to have all this special shit that can reproduce the electronic sound waves the lock is set to. Better to just find some way to steal a key card.

Jazz and I circled the building once, walking up to each of the doors. I found what was probably the utility room, owing to the vents on the door in lieu of any kind of window. We were both thinking this wasn't going to work out by the time we were three quarters of the way around, and honestly I was kind of relieved, but then there it was:

An open window, no fucking joke. Not even a real window Jazz would have to boost me into, but like a ground-level, full floor window anyone could crawl through if they got the notion. Some stupid prick had legit left it cranked open a couple inches, and yeah there was a screen in the way but that was _nothing_. That was two seconds of me popping the thing out from the window frame and tossing it aside. See, this was the kind of dumb behavior that made me feel like people got what they had coming to them sometimes. This was asking for it, was what it was.

I lowered down to my knees on the carpet of rotting leaves that surrounded the building and got rid of the screen so I could pry the window open. Jazz disappeared from behind me and came back shortly thereafter with Bella and Alice in tow. I slid in through it and turned around to wait for the rest of them to follow.

I heard Bella hiss to Alice to be careful of her bag, and it was close to funny that with all this going on what she was worried about was her paper getting wrinkled. Then again, that was the whole reason we were going to these lengths, wasn't it? I'd forgotten, since I could not care less about Bella's classes. Yet here I was, wasn't I? I was doing this. _What is wrong with me?_

"I can wait out front in case anyone comes along," Alice offered. "I have my phone right?"

It sounded good to me, but Jazz grunted in protest while still halfway through the window. He didn't want her by herself but, more importantly, he wanted to be with her.

"Sounds good," I agreed sharply. Jazz's sigh echoed me.

"Just call Bella's cell if you see any cars or anyone," he told Alice. She nodded through the window at him, looking especially solemn like this was very serious business, and got to her feet to walk away.

I used my flashlight to look around the giant room in which we now stood and saw that it was some classroom. Rows of chairs with tiny desks bolted to them cascaded up one side of the room, and at the opposite end was a wall of whiteboards and a little wooden podium. So this was it, the dwelling of academia. Where young minds were molded. It was ugly and creepy with just the yellow beam of the flashlight to illuminate it, but I suspected it didn't look much better in the day time with fluorescent lighting either.

"The teachers' offices are on the third floor," Bella whispered, though it wasn't like anyone would hear us.

We went from the classroom to the main corridor, and Bella pointed to the stairwell.

"Where do you want me?" Jazz asked. He was fidgeting now because of Alice. As if she could really get into any trouble in a place like this.

And that pissed me off because I had _expressly said_ for him not to leave me alone with Bella, telling him not once but _twice_, and already he was looking to bail on me. Punk bastard. Probably planned on it the whole time, knowing him.

"Oh for fuck's sake, just wait out front," My eyes narrowed. "No fucking around." Not that I thought he would but… yeah, I thought he would. Jazz held out his palms defensively.

"I got you," he swore before taking off back in the direction of the classroom. Sure he did.

Our footsteps echoed along the corridor as Bella and I walked to the stairwell. I let her go first, since I had no clue where we were going. It was dark other than the flashlight beam, climbing up the stairs. Her red sweater stood out in the dark, just bright enough to be some kind of homing beacon. I speculated idly on what she had on underneath it as I followed her. Bella wasn't the kind of girl you can nail and then not call again, and I saw that. I did. Beyond just knowing it, I hadn't really wanted to do that; to bail on her. I was so glad she wasn't bringing it up.

We got to the third floor and I tried the door handle – locked. I knelt down to inspect the door, shining my light into the space between the door and the wall. If we were lucky, this was something I could jimmy with a card.

We weren't lucky.

"Why the hell would they lock the whole floor off?" I demanded irritably, pulling out my tools. "That's got to be a fire code violation."

"I don't know," Bella replied nervously.

"Here, hold this."

I gave her the flashlight and set to work, digging through my limited gear. Set of picks, couple tension wrenches, an old library card from I didn't know where, my jiggler keys, tweezers and a slim jim. Assorted shit, really. I grabbed the smaller wrench and stuck it into the lock to wiggle around. Nice fit. Next I tried a couple different picks before settling on the plainest one I had.

The lock wasn't too bad – just enough to annoy me. I hadn't done this in a while and there were several minutes of me trying to reorient myself. After switching out picks again I finally got started on the lock in earnest, my ear close to the door to listen for the telltale clicks. Bella leaned in close to where I was working, the beam of the flashlight narrowing its focus around the lock.

"That looks really complicated," she breathed, her exhalation tickling my ear. "How does it work?"

I gritted my teeth. Her proximity was distracting me because I mean she was _right there_ and I could smell her and it smelled like girl. Like flowers, not real ones but the chemical floral scent that lets you know a girl is taking time on herself. I was so caught up in breathing it in that let the wrench slip and heard the two pins I'd gotten up so far click back into place.

"Damn it," I spat, yanking the pick back out and shaking my wrist to loosen the muscles. I was going to have to start all over. "Shit."

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Bella said immediately, backing away. "I didn't mean to distract you. I'm sorry."

"No it's cool," I heard myself saying automatically. "It's just – I mean if you really want to know… I'll show you later okay?"

That'd be a real cozy conversation. In some states, that wouldn't even be legal. I imagined the kinds of things Bella talked about with other guys, and this was nowhere on that list. Then again, breaking the law was probably not one of her fallback date activities. And why was I thinking about that again?

Bella stayed back where she was, the wavering of the flashlight the only indication that she was upset. This was a shitty time for me to lose control of my temper. She was jiggling the flashlight like she was quivering. I'd scared her again, and I hated that. It bothered me that she could have that reaction to me, and more so that it was my own damn fault for being such a bastard to her when I'd first met her. If this was having a thing for someone, I was seriously terrible at it. I took a few deep breaths and pulled the wrench out of the lock.

"Okay see this thing?" I asked, holding it up for Bella. I was deliberately speaking as calmly as I could, because it wasn't friendly but it was the best I could do while avoiding sounding irritated. I was annoyed at myself but Bella would just think I was annoyed at her.

"Yeah," Bella whispered.

"This is a tension wrench. Or a torque wrench or whatever you want to call it. I put it in the lock first, see, to hold the cylinder in place. The cylinder is the thing inside the lock that you have to be able to turn to open it. You following me?"

Bella nodded and she was calmer now, so that was good I supposed. I turned my attention back to the lock and slid the wrench in.

"So there's these pins in the lock, and depending on how complex the lock is the more pins there are. Could be anywhere from three to the most I've seen is ten, which is an absolute bitch. This one's five. Kinda cheap considering."

"How do you tell how many pins there are?" Bella wanted to know, and there was undisguised curiosity in her voice. I got off on that a little bit, that she was interested and maybe sort of impressed. _By me?_ This was nothing special. I showed her the pick.

"The little bump on the end. I use it to feel the inside of the tumbler and move it along the pins."

I demonstrated this by wriggling the pick above the torque wrench in the lock, though I already knew how many pins I was dealing with from my first attempt.

"Oh," Bella blew out in a gust of air, and she was close to distracting me again just with that. I coughed.

"So there's 6 pins in this lock, which means there's actually 12 pins. Two in each set. And what I have to do is I use the pick to push them- uh, this is complicated if you don't have like a picture in front of you or something."

"Oh. That's okay." She tossed me this smile that was too sweet.

The first two pins were easy because I already knew them, and I was working on the third when Bella spoke again.

"Where did you learn how to do this, Edward?"

Shit, I liked the way she said my name when she was trying to be quiet, too breathy. I swallowed hard and forced my mind out of the gutter it was digging for itself.

"Prison."

"No, really," Bella protested, the bounce of light signaling her skeptical posture.

"Really." _Why would I lie about that?_

"…Oh."

That was the thing about the criminal justice system; the misconception regular people seem to have that going to jail somehow rehabilitates criminals through punishment. In reality it's the exact opposite. People go to jail and they don't learn not to break the law; that's not the lesson there. The lesson is, "don't get caught." The fact is, people go to prison and all they learn is that they don't want to go back. Prison escalates criminals, yours truly included. Someone goes in for prying open a door with a crowbar, they go out knowing they need to pick the lock next time. On a greater scale, someone goes in for rape, he's going to coming how thinking next time he needs to make sure not to leave any survivors.

And anyway, when a guy gets out of prison no one's going to want to hire him for a legit job that gets reported to the IRS and the parole officer and takes out Social Security payments. He's never going to be able to be a regular upstanding citizen no matter what he does, so why try? Why bother, when breaking the law is something he already knows and now he's going to be better at it than before?

Prison is a violent, angry place, make no mistake. How anyone could harbor the delusion that people go in to a place like Joliet or Stateville and come back out with a better perspective on life was beyond me. It's a fucked up system and it's not doing anyone any favors, but it's the best we can come up with I guess. Hell if I knew how to fix it. That's just human nature, and humans are assholes. Also yours truly included.

I stopped short of explaining all of this to Bella. She wouldn't want to hear it and quite possibly she wouldn't understand it if she did.

With a soft but satisfying click the last pin moved into place. I removed the pick and turned my wrench hoping to God I was not about to look like a jackass in front of Bella by twisting the lock the wrong way and resetting all the pins. I hadn't so I didn't, and the door popped open easily. Had Jazz been with us he surely would have uttered something asinine like "voila" for Bella's benefit. As it was we just got to our feet and entered the third floor corridor to find this rigid son of a bitch's office.

Seriously, who doesn't let a pretty girl turn in a paper late? What kind of policy was that? Not like if Bella's paper was late the world was going to change. Then again, not like if Bella failed her class the world was going to change either. We found the office no problem, and that door I could open using the former library card. Bella went directly for the desk and I left her to do her thing.

The office had this huge window with a view of the woods behind the campus, and blue and yellow light was coming in from the street below. I used it to read the row of diplomas dotting the wall. That was how I realized this was the same professor who'd been such a spectacular douchebag at that party thing Jazz had dragged me along to last weekend. Why that hadn't occurred to me before, I didn't know, but it made sense.

Man, fuck that guy. Giving me weird looks and creepy smiles. Too much attention. What the hell was up with all this interest in me from the whitebread elite, all of a sudden? I spent two and a half decades being completely ignored unless I pissed someone off, and now out of nowhere I had people asking me questions and wanting to know all about me. Where did that come from? What was so noteworthy? If I asked Bella she'd just get upset, but I swore to myself then that if I ever saw this Carlisle guy again I was going to make myself understood.

"I can't_ believe _I'm doing this," Bella breathed, and I looked over to where she was slipping her paper to the middle of a stack of them on the dude's desk. She was close to giddy about it, her hand practically shaking, and honestly…

Honestly, I thought that was cute as hell. Something about that really did it for me. It was cute how exciting this was for her when it was for real no big thing. And considering what a pompous asshole her professor was, she'd kind of earn the right to fuck with his stuff a little. We should do something while we were alone in here. Trash it a little, mess up his neatly arranged books. Or not, but I was thinking about it anyway just to humor myself.

I watched Bella all bright eyed and shivering and wondered what she would do if I just went for it right now. Like if I kissed her, if I pinned her up against the wall right here in her teacher's office. What would she do? Would she be down? Shit, I was so into that idea, picturing it in my mind as I took a small step in Bella's direction. I shouldn't have been indulging that line of thought, but I was too caught up remembering how it had been last time.

Or on the desk, that'd be good too. It was the right height and I could already see the papers and nameplate scattered across the floor. Sprawled out over it over even just taking Bella and bending her over, pushing up that sweater so I could get to her back. Feel her skin. Taste it. Jazz and Alice were three floors down, out front somewhere. They wouldn't know. No one would know. And we had all night and I was so ready for it and _fuck_. This was _exactly_ why I told Jazz not to leave me alone with her.

Bella looked up at me as I took another step toward her. It was so quiet I heard her breathing mixing with my own and I thought maybe, maybe she would stop me. Probably. Definitely. That was what I needed Bella to do. This time she couldn't just go with it, this time she'd shut me down. She was a good girl, and I was thinking some seriously messed up dirty thoughts. I got closer and I saw in her eyes that she absolutely would not shut me down. Not completely.

My heart was thrumming now. Everything in me was tight and tense, focused on trying to keep me contained within myself. It was killing me, the way I was trying to smother my own thoughts in the silence of that office. Like maybe I should be saying something right now and I seriously had absolutely nothing I could pull out to fill the quiet because I was too busy trying not to tackle Bella.

There was an unfamiliar buzzing in my pocket that stopped me in my tracks. It took me a second to realize it was Bella's cell phone ringing. _Damn it_. I pulled it out and read Alice's name on the little front screen before flipping it open to answer it the way Bella'd showed me. Next to me, Bella inched away from the desk and toward the office door. Opportunity lost, moment over.

"Yeah?" I growled.

"Hey man," Jazz's voice came over the phone, soft like he was keeping it down. "So no big thing, but there was this security guy driving around a minute ago and I think he's gearing for a second loop. We need to go soon. Are you guys almost done?"

I sighed, half from frustration and half from relief.

"Yeah, we're good. We'll meet you outside."

After I hung up the phone I handed it back to Bella, avoiding looking at her face. I might have been imagining it earlier, the look she was giving me. I had to have been. I clicked the lock on the office door before we closed it and it was like we'd never been in there. _Would have been nice to knock down some of those fucking diplomas, at least._

The door on the stairwell was the kind that automatically locked when it shut, which explained why we hadn't been able to open it. There was a doorstop in the corridor that I was betting got used to prop it open during the day. At the bottom of the stairs there was no door, and Bella and I were back into the classroom and out the window in no time.

"All set?" Jazz asked me when we met up with him and Alice by the dumpster.

"Yeah, let's book."

We got back over the fence and were about a hundred yards from the building before, abruptly, Alice exploded into squeals.

"Oh my God, oh my God, that was _so fun!_" she mock-whispered to Bella.

Bella laughed, and so did Jazz. I shook my head. Fun? Not the word I would have used. My mind was still back in that office, doing all kinds of dirty things to Bella. Jesus Christ, that had been really close. Like unbelievably close. I was still right there on the edge, waiting for another chance. My heart was beating faster, circulating all the hormones and whatever else through my bloodstream, trying to keep me geared up and ready to go. I'd been half hard. I'd wanted it. That had to be eight kinds of twisted shit, right there.

Bella and Alice were dancing down the sidewalk ahead of us, swinging their clasped hands and giggling. Bella tossed a look back over her shoulder at me and grinned, and that felt so strange to see. How I'd made her so happy, and she was all better because of _me_. It wasn't the same way I could work all day on re-shingling Mrs. Clearwater's roof and earn her praise and get a brownie or it didn't matter what that was. This didn't feel like that. This was _different_, and for once something about who I was could make someone smile at me the way Bella was.

So maybe other guys like that Mike kid took her out to the movies and bought her dinner and whatever else. Fuck them.

Jazz shoved me into someone's yard in the dark and I responded by punching him in the arm. He threw his head back and laughed.

"Come _on_," he said to me, looking forward at the girls. "You know? _Come on_."

I did know. And it was scary how physically good it felt.

We got back to the house and Jazz made like he was going to go back inside. He glanced at me, silently asking if I was staying or going. My original plan had been to bail the first chance I got, but_ now_ I was rethinking. Now I was convincing myself I could go inside and apologize to Bella and say whatever it was I needed to say to make it happen.

I shook my head at Jazz and turned to go to the truck. I was in the middle of opening the door when I heard footsteps behind me and there was Bella.

"I just wanted to say, you know, thank you. Again." She fiddled with the edge of her sweater but looked me right in the eyes.

"Yeah." _Real suave line, there. _I took my tool roll out of my sweatshirt and tossed it into the cab of the truck.

"Uhm, do you like me?" Bella blurted out.

What? _What?_

"What?"

I was stunned enough to throw her off, feeling a sudden blow to my gut, and I prayed to God I wasn't about to get sick. Bella shrugged, still trying to make eye contact. I avoided her gaze.

"I just want to know if I'm wasting my time. If when we… had sex…" she had a hard time saying the words. "If it was just that for you and nothing else."

Well hell.

"I just broke a shit ton of laws for you," I told Bella quietly, working at keeping my voice even. "That's... that was…"

That was not a favor for Jazz, and I'd been an idiot to tell myself it was. Bella wet her lips with her tongue and I knew _immediately_ that I was thoroughly fucked. My limbs were starting to rattle and my lungs weren't filling up all the way anymore.

_Yeah, so this was nice. Time to get the fuck out of here._

Bella's face transformed into something that looked like it might have been on the path to a smile but I would never know because that was when I hit my limit. I somehow got my arm around her at the same time I slammed the driver's side door shut, and then I was leaning against the truck with my mouth on Bella's and my hand up the back of her sweater, letting my body do what it was aching for.

_Fuck. Yes._


	19. Chapter 19

**BPOV**

Edward's body temperature was several degrees higher than mine, and his lips warmed my skin as he pressed them indiscriminately against my mouth, my cheek, my neck. I sighed in contentment and wrapped my arms around his neck, savoring this perfect experience. How often in one's life do they not want anything at all beyond what they currently have? Not very often.

What perfectly shitty timing for Rosalie to swing her BMW into the driveway, and oh how I could have cheerfully wrung her slender graceful neck in that moment. She narrowly missed Edward and me as she zoomed past, car stereo blaring in total disregard for any neighbors that might be trying to sleep. Rosalie hopped out of the car and slammed the driver's side door noisily before sashaying over to where we stood by Jazz's truck. The only redeeming factor of Rosalie's obnoxious interruption was the way Edward instinctively pulled me tighter to him to save me from my house mate's demon driving. I managed to enjoy a good four or so seconds snuggled against Edward's chest before he mechanically withdrew his arms completely and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"Well hello there," Rosalie greeted us. "Did you two kids have a _fun, eventful _evening?" It came off somewhere between innuendo and accusation, more toward the former than the latter. So she was in a good mood, then. She'd probably just gotten laid. I was jealous.

I winced, not sure how Edward would react. He said nothing, leaning against the truck door and leaving me to navigate the situation. Apparently he had never learned of the buddy system.

"Yeah, uh, be inside in a minute, okay?"

I gave Rosalie a very meaningful look, praying she would take pity on me and decide to be merciful just the once. This was Rosalie we were talking about here, though, so of course she didn't. She folded her arms over her chest and smirked at us knowingly. I could feel Edward inch further away from me, retreating, and it made me worry that he was going to use Rose as an excuse to just bail on me. Again. _Not this time, buddy._

"Oh don't mind me," Rose sang. "You continue with your licentious skulking outside our house in the dead of night. Nothing shifty about _that_, eh?"

"Licentious is a pretty big word," Edward deadpanned. "Are you sure you know what it means?"

Any hope I had that Rosalie would leave us alone and go into the house evaporated with Edward's words. Rosalie's eyes narrowed and she examined Edward as though he were something foul in her food that she'd spat into her napkin.

"Fuck you, Five-to-Ten," she sneered. "Tell me, what's it like being some huge hairy guy's bitch, anyway?"

Rosalie had her hands on her hips now, waiting for Edward to shoot something back at her and start off a full round of verbal sparring.

"Shouldn't I be asking you?" Edward turned it around easily.

It was a good retort, but also a possibly fatal one for Edward. Rose's eyes flared open in anger. She took a large step forward, and Edward immediately took a step back so that he bumped into the car door. He watched Rose over my shoulder, sucking in the hollow of his cheek.

"Look, asshole-" Rose began, drawing herself up.

"Sorry," Edward interrupted quickly. "I'm sorry. I should get going." Edward tugged his hand away from mine to go for the door handle.

"Yeah, why don't you do that?" Rose agreed acidly, though her expression was one of confusion. She'd expected Edward to draw out this mini-fight they were having.

Damn it, no! I was _this_ close, and I was not about to just let him go now.

"You don't have to go," I told him, rotating my body inward to physically push Rosalie out of the conversation. "It's late…"

Was I inviting him to spend the night? Yes, yes I was. Edward wasn't looking at me, though. He was looking at Rose, and I swore I recognized that look. From his kitchen, when I'd yelled at him. And slapped him.

"Bella, I'm freezing my tits off," Rosalie complained. "Say goodbye to Shawshank here so he can get a move on."

Edward stared at her, the muscles around his eyes tightening, his mouth open with no retort, and I was uneasy. Maybe he should go? He definitely should, or else Lord knew what would happen. Rosalie wasn't going to let up on him. I'd be damned if I was going to just toss out a good night without having even talked to Edward about anything, though. And honestly, before Rosalie had interrupted I'd been ready for a lot more than just some talking.

If I'd called Rose a bitch to her face, she would have acknowledged that fact with a smile. I never understood that – how someone could be proud of such an unappealing characteristic. Sometimes, _most_ of the time, Rosalie's strong personality and will were admirable. But then other times… well, I guess I could almost see why Jazz got the urge to clock people in the jaw. Now was one of those times.

"If you're cold, go inside," I snapped at Rose, my irritation showing through. I had never snapped at her before. "You should have just left us alone in the first place."

"S'fine," Edward said faintly.

No, it wasn't fine. Edward seemed to shrink before my eyes. He tore his eyes away from Rose just long enough to glance at me, and it was obvious how uncomfortable he was with her. He climbed into Jazz's truck and on impulse I rushed around the cab to the passenger's side door. As I passed Rose I glared at her to make sure she understood how monumentally displeased I was with her, and she curled her lip unapologetically.

Edward already had the engine started when I slid into the seat, but he waited for me to buckle my seatbelt before pulling away from the curb. _Way to just invite yourself along._ We weren't done for the evening yet, though; I wasn't ready to say goodbye, and I wasn't going to let Rosalie ruin this for me.

"Don't drop the soap, Bella!" Rose called after us.

Wasn't going to let her ruin this, though she was definitely trying.

Port Angeles was extra quiet as Edward steered the pickup toward the highway. Who else was awake at this hour on a Monday night slash Tuesday morning? College kids, maybe. Studying for their midterms or frantically trying to finish essays that were due in class the next morning. Whichever campus security guard was currently on duty, driving around and apparently failing at doing his job. None of them existed for me, the silence in the truck extending outwards into the night and blanketing everything we passed. The only sound was our breathing.

Beside me, Edward was staring straightforward out the windshield with the grim determination of a man who had a job to perform or else was marching to his doom. Not very romantic.

"We should talk," I suggested softly. Edward's features tightened and loosened again.

"Okay. Okay, yeah. So talk?"

Talking. That sounded good. Now that the clear opportunity and obvious necessity had presented itself, all the things I might have liked to say to and ask Edward completely fled my mind. He was giving me zilch to work with, not that I expected any different by this point. It was the conversational equivalent of when you have a million movies you've been meaning to see, but upon arriving at the grocery store you can't think of a single one. I hated that.

In the back of my head there was a tiny happy voice singing, "He likes me, Edward likes me," over and over. It should have been great news, but the effect was admittedly slightly dampened by Edward's almost grim expression. The guy I was interested in and had slept with was only acting as if he were actually displeased to have feelings for me. Maybe he was. _Ouch._

"We didn't have to drive all the way back to your house tonight," I said. "Rose is just… Rose. I have as much right to company as she has. God knows we could not possibly be more disruptive than she and Emmett are."

I couldn't be sure, but I thought Edward's features relaxed the tiniest bit.

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly want to stick around and listen to Jasper make it with your friend, did you?"

Good point.

Edward's use of Jazz's full first name confused me until I recalled. Jasper. Jasper Something Whitlock the Somethingth. He'd told Alice and I all about it at the bar, extrapolating at great length. Had all that really been true, or was it just another one of Jazz's stories? At any rate, this would be a good way to distract Edward away from whatever was preoccupying him.

"Jazz was telling me he comes from an old southern family. That sounds so interesting." I wanted to prod gently, but there was nothing artfully subtle about my inquiry. Edward snorted.

"The majestic Whitlocks. Yeah, I think that… I don't know. It's weird." Edward frowned after he spoke.

"How is it weird?"

I had to admit it did seem a tad odd that, coming from such a prominent family, Jazz would be living in abject poverty. Then again, wasn't he receiving some kind of monthly stipend from his grandparents' estate or something like that? I waited while Edward shrugged and reached out to fiddle with the heater knob.

"It's… does it really matter? It's half true, I guess. Jazz likes to believe that it is so it might as well be, you know? Who cares?"

Now it was my turn to frown.

"How do you mean?"

Edward heaved a frustrated breath and scratched the back of his neck, these uncomfortable little gestures that were just familiar enough for me to recognize. He was uncomfortable right now; the topic we were discussing made him uneasily, or else he was still thinking about Rosalie. My curiosity shamefully prevented me from changing the subject, but I didn't see what the big deal was. Either Jazz was full of shit or he wasn't, and I felt like if he had lied to me about something than I had a right to know the truth. Edward's assertion that it didn't matter either way made no sense to me.

"Well look, see, if something makes someone happier to believe, then they might as well, right? Rattling off the fucking ridiculous name of his is a lot better than telling people he didn't own shoes until he was ten."

I gaped.

"He didn't own shoes until he was _ten?_"

"Yeah, you know, or whenever. I don't know, he's not really sure when his birthday is. My _point_ is that-"

"What do you mean, he doesn't know when his birthday is?" The very concept was unfathomable to me.

Edward made an exasperated noise.

"Fuck, I don't _know. _No one ever told him. His parents had like a million kids, I don't think they really kept track. Look, just forget it okay? Like I said, it doesn't _matter_."

But it _did _matter, at least to me. I made a mental note to bring this up with Alice later, to see if she knew that about Jazz. Who doesn't know when their birthday is? Jehovah's Witnesses knew, even if they didn't celebrate them. There was a girl at my middle school who was a Jehovah's Witness, and I distinctly recalled her being embarrassed when we all sang her happy birthday in class. Later, my dad had to explain to me what exactly a Jehovah's Witness was.

The private lane to Edward and Jazz's house was pitch black, darker even than the unlit highway due to the absence of moon and starlight filtering through the gaps in the towering pine trees. The headlights cast an eerie, bouncing glow over the dirt, and it seemed like any second they would shine upon something grotesque and startling. Like out of a horror film. I recalled turning down the unpaved road the first time with Alice, fearing the worst at the hands of some murderous duo yet oddly thrilled at the prospect of encountering them again under the guise returning Edward's sweatshirt.

Edward pulled up so the nose of the truck was close to touching the chainlink fence that buffeted the house and slammed the truck into park but didn't turn off the engine right away. Instead he went through his litany of discomfited gestures again before twisting in his seat to face me.

"Uhm. So, uhm." Edward's mouth kept moving after noise stopped coming out, a brief pause of awkward non-communication. "I should have, uhm…"

I held my breath, expecting an apology or at the very least a sign of remorse for his behavior (or lack thereof) over the past week. I assumed Edward was about to tell me that he should have called or made an effort to contact me; that he shouldn't have just waited until I was asleep and ducked out on me without so much as saying goodbye after we had sex. I readied myself to forgive him and to offer something of my own. After all, it wasn't _completely_ Edward's fault. Well, the leaving part was, but he didn't have my phone number, and I wasn't entirely sure he had a phone. I was willing to let it go, especially in the wake of tonight. We could start over. I wanted that so very much.

"I should have left you at your house," Edward decided out loud, tugging on the roots of his hair in a display of his frustration. Oh.

"What? Why?" I fought back the immediate sting of hurt at what sounded a lot like a rejection to me.

What happened to the desperate passion Edward has displayed when he grabbed me and kissed me back at my house? What had changed since then? Was it because Rosalie had interrupted us? What if she hadn't? Would Edward and I be comfortably ensconced in my bed right now, doing what quite frankly I was more than ready to do? Was it because I'd brought up Jazz? Edward's moods were so touchy and subject to the slightest influence that it was impossible for me to discern what had gone awry.

Edward cocked his head. He reached across the seat and at first I thought he was reaching for me. He picked up his little tool roll.

"That's going to help?" he wanted to know, tapping the case with the side of his thumb. "I mean, with your paper and shit. It'll help?"

"Yes. Thank you again."

Edward nodded, satisfied.

The house was quiet and empty, Edward standing in the foyer with an uncertain look on his face. He didn't have any sort of plan for what to do next, which was fair. Coming along with him had been my split-second decision, and I approached him now like he was a nervous kitten. We still hadn't talked about anything, sidetracked by Jazz's apparently unconventional upbringing. I still didn't know where to start.

"I really like you," I confessed, blurting out the admission. For an instant Edward and I looked at each other in shock, and then he shook his head.

"This is… really stupid," he told me.

Even as he said it, though, he was coming toward, and by the time I had my mouth open to express that I disagreed, he was already kissing me. So much for talking? I should have stopped him. I didn't. Talking could wait. Who was I kidding? I wanted Edward. If he wanted, me I wasn't about to stop him.

"Let me… Let me…" Edward mumbled against my lips.

Without elaborating what I was supposed to let him do he kissed me again. Suddenly I was in his arms and he was carrying me up the stairs.

I guess I expected Edward's room to be scattered and messy – classic young adult male. In fact it wasn't much of anything at all, just a bed with a nightstand and wardrobe. All three had come with the house, I knew from Jazz. Wooden floors added to the barrenness. Edward set me down on the bed and wasted no time climbing on top of me and kissing me again.

If anything, it was better this time around. Part of that was I'd been half-anticipating this ever since Edward had kissed me back at my house after the night's debauchery. Perhaps I might've liked to savor it more, coupling the experience with my general air of triumph. Edward was no patient, methodical lover, however. In no time at all we were hastily undressing each other, and while the mood might have been different, that much had _not _changed.

This time Edward didn't hesitate as long before pulling his shirt off, and somehow that pleased me. It meant that he was getting more at ease with me, I thought.

"This is bad," he groaned in between kisses along my neck, running his hands up my sides and under my bra. "This is… _Fuck_ you feel good."

"You like me?" I tried to ask but more moaned, lifting my hips to help Edward slide my underwear off. I needed the reaffirmation.

"Yeah," Edward panted in agreement, settling between my legs and forcing my knees to bend. "Yeah…"

He started to reach for the nightstand, stopped to kiss me, went for it again, and eventually got his hands on a condom. There had been close to zero foreplay, but by then I was so anxious for it that I didn't care.

Edward entered me and it was perfect, this exact fit that I'd been missing. Better than the sensations on their own was knowing they meant _something_, and it was like I'd won some kind of prize. Edward was grunting in his exertion, warm damp exhalations along my collarbone as we moved together. Something about the way Edward touched my body made me feel so vividly alive. Electric. I tangled my fingers in his silky hair and ran my hands along his shoulders, the muscles in them rolling the way a cat's does when he stalks. I remembered last time, how Edward had been about my nails. Was I supposed to do that again? I wanted to make this as good for him as it was for me. When I pressed them in he growled harshly.

"_Fuck_."

Without warning Edward sat up and effortlessly brought me with him. He settled me into his lap so that I was straddling him, rocking against him while his hands roamed my skin and he easily lifted and settled me into each of his thrusts. While I didn't grasp the fascination my back held for Edward, I didn't care right then because it was _amazing_. All of it, everything.

Something about this position, the way our bodies slid together with each movement… I was getting close without having to touch myself. I whimpered and buried my face in the crook of Edward's neck as I came. He rocked slowly for a little bit, then fell back on top of me.

"I was thinking… about this…" he informed me between pants. "About you… Wanted it so much… Fuck… Do it harder."

Maybe there was a book somewhere where men could read up on the exact right things to say to a woman in bed. If so, Edward had not only read it but memorized it. That last part was a reference to the way I was lightly dragging my nails across his back, testing the action out. Edward drew me tight up against him and lifting me, pushing into me more, and from my position I could see his back in the moonlight. His scars were lighter than the rest of his back, the skin raised so I could find it with my fingertips. The back half of his tattoo stood out against his paleness, and it seemed completely different to me in the context of its origin.

"More," he insisted breathlessly. "Make it hurt."

_Yikes. _I wasn't into that so much, but Edward was a big boy and clearly knew exactly what he liked so I didn't argue. I dug my nails in as hard as I could and Edward hissed. He slowed down and pressed his lips hard against mine, groaning into my mouth as he came.

Gradually our breathing slowed back to a normal pace, my body fully relaxed but my heart still racing. Edward rolled off of me onto his back to get rid of the condom, and I responded by curling up against his side. His skin was burning up, just like last time, his whole body flushed.

"Christ," he half-whispered, causing me to smile in satisfaction.

From there we drifted into silence, and I was fine with that. After the stress over my paper, the adrenaline rush of sneaking into the English building and the, ahem, vigorous activity Edward and I had just performed, I was _more_ than ready to sleep. I hoped Edward felt the same way. This was nice. Being alone in the house with him, settling against the warmth of his skin and listening to his heart beat, his chest rising and falling with each breath. I was content in my post-coital bliss. Was Edward this happy?

"What are you thinking?" I whispered to Edward, not sure whether he'd fallen asleep.

"What am I thinking?" Edward appeared baffled by the question. "Nothing. I'm not thinking anything."

"That's impossible," I argued. "You're awake. You have to be thinking something, right?"

Edward considered.

"I'm thinking… twenty minutes." He rolled his head to the side and looked at me seriously. "I need twenty minutes before I can go again."

Okay, so, not exactly the answer I was looking for. I blushed, hiding my face in Edward's shoulder and letting the subject drop. Nestled there against Edward's chest, using his shoulder as a pillow, I let myself imagine how great tomorrow was going to be. Things were on the upswing, at last.

For a while we lay there together, me slowly drifting to sleep. After a few minutes Edward began shifting and readjusting beneath me, doing things like sliding his arm around me only to withdraw it again seconds later and rest it above his head instead. It was impossible to sleep with his constant motion, but I wasn't willing to give up yet. I assumed he would settle down eventually, that this was part of his natural routine, the way Mike had to roll over at _least_ 5 times prior to passing out.

I was wrong.

Finally Edward eased me off of him and got out of the bed. I sat up and drew the covers around myself, watching him pull on first his shirt, then his pants.

"What are you doing?" Was he going somewhere? At this time of night? If so, what on earth _for_?

"I'm just gonna – I'm gonna go sleep in Jazz's room, okay?" Edward didn't look at me, concentrating on the fly of his jeans.

_What?_

"Are you _joking?_" I asked, incredulous. Was it me? Did I smell? I'd showered that morning. What the heck was the problem?

Edward sucked in air through his teeth. Outside the wind whistled through the trees, and I was lonely despite the fact that Edward had not yet left the room. I blinked, tears forming. I didn't understand. Edward cringed and began to rub his upper arm.

"No it's- I'm not…" he tapped his hand on his thigh anxiously.

He also must have been able to see that I was upset, because he dropped back down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I can't sleep in here with you," he told me bluntly. "It's freaking me out. Like having you right there and I don't know I'd be asleep and you might or I might I don't know. It's making me sick."

Not that Edward didn't _want_ to, but that he _couldn't_. I got out of bed too now, unwilling to be naked when my partner no longer was. Edward's words filtered through my drowsy consciously as I rushed to get dressed, but I remained unable to make sense of them. What was he afraid I would _do_? It made him _sick_? As much as that hurt my feelings, Edward's earnest expression and nervous fidgeting told me that he was displeased with the situation too.

"It's not you," Edward explained, rambling and miserable. "It's just the idea that someone is… I mean, when it's… It's scaring me. I know that's fucking dumb, alright, just like the idea that you could, that someone could, I mean, not just you but that if I was asleep and you touching me and I don't know. I can't do it. It's not right? I feels… I _do_ like… I mean- You- I tried and I can't do it. Okay? I'm… I'm _sorry_."

He spoke the last two words very softly, looking at the wall in front of him rather than at me.

I couldn't tell him it was okay; I didn't think it was. Not for me, and definitely not for Edward. On the one hand, I wasn't going to try and force him to stay in his bed with me when even the thought of doing so was enough to disturb him. On the other hand, sleeping down the hall from him was upsetting to _me_ and we appeared to have reached an impasse.

"It's fine," I stated, making my voice calm, hoping to avoid Edward full-on panicking. "Are you very tired? Would you mind driving me home? Is that alright?"

I yearned to reach out and pat him on the back, to display some sort of comfort to him. If I had how would he have responded?

Edward said he wasn't too tired, so that was what we did. We got back in the truck and drove _back_ to my house without speaking. I reached across the cab to rest my hand on Edward's upper arm, and he flinched but didn't push my hand away. I wasn't mad at Edward. Just sad. What kind of grown man is afraid to sleep in a bed with another person? Or even in the same room as them, from the sound of things. Had he really never _slept _with a woman before? What about with Jazz? Well, not like _with _Jazz, but in the same room as him? What about in prison? Didn't they share cells? That was how it was on HBO's Oz.

I thought of Edward's mother again, of his story he'd told me on the back porch of his house that day when he'd shown me his tattoo. Instinct told me this had to do with that, that it was part of the same… issue. Good lord, what had that woman _done_ to her son?

Edward's perspective was seriously skewed if he thought I was going to do something horrible to him while he was sleeping, or that something awful would happen. Sure, I snored on occasion. Mostly when I had a cold. That was as bad as it got. There was no way to make Edward understand that.

When we got to my house Edward aligned Jazz's truck with the curb, leaving the motor running. I twisted in my seat to tell him good night, and that was when I saw his eyes gleaming wetly in the streetlight. He was gripping the steering wheel tight, and in one swift move he drew his hand back in a fist and slammed it against the wheel with a loud thud. After this he turned his head to me and took a steadying breath.

"Night." Totally emotionless.

"Goodnight," I responded, wide eyed and unable to think of something better to say. Edward resumed staring out the windshield or else at nothing at all, and I interpreted that as my cue to exit.

Although I was exhausted, I did not go directly to bed once I got upstairs. I was too focused on what had just happened, all of it from beginning to end.

Left to my own devices, I did what I think most people do when they have a question for which it feels like there is no answer: I turned to Google. I seated myself at the computer and put on some relaxing music through my headphones while I typed in the words "child abuse effects" into the ubiquitous search engine. I was mildly horrified to discover there were over five million results, ranging from lists of statistics to personal accounts to psychology journal articles. As I sifted through page after page of information, one thing became painfully clear: What Edward had experienced in his youth was something he wouldn't ever be able to fully get over.

Was that it then? The lasting impressions of whatever had happened to Edward, the extent of which I simultaneously did and didn't want to know, was preventing him from behaving in a normal fashion now? From having an argument with Rosalie or sleeping in a bed with me? How much did that sort of trauma shape one's development and the rest of his or her life? Any estimations I could make would be amateurish at best, and yet I was determined to delve deeper.

The internet told me that with extensive therapy a child could display a marked improvement in behavior and mental state. Had Edward ever been to counseling or something like that? Hell, probably not. Even with my student's insurance, I wouldn't have been about to afford it. I knew because my mother had helped me find a therapist after my dad died, and we'd paid for most of it out of pocket. For someone with Edward's lack of income and employment, it would be a near impossibility.

I had the knowledge that some small part of Edward was vested in me, that it was enough for him to let me in just a little. There had to be something I could do and I would figure out what it was. It was a clear start. In the meantime I knew I would never forget the sight of Edward as I'd last seen him in the driver's seat of Jazz's truck, his hair disheveled from our encounter, lips parted from telling me goodnight. Gazing blankly at nothing. Silently crying.

*************

**Yowza, this is late. I know you don't care why, but I just want to let you know it's not going to continue to take this long between updates. Family junk, you know how it is. Anyway, my goal is to finish this story before the new year, so updates should definitely be coming more often. Thank you all so much for your patience. And if you have the time to let me know what you think of my story, I would love to hear it.  
**

**I'd also like to thank The Lazy Yet Discerning Ficster, which recommended my story. That was rad of you, and I appreciate it! **


	20. Chapter 20

**EPOV**

Some people can't enjoy a bad decision because they're too busy feeling guilty about it or maybe already being aware that they'll regret it later. And then for some people, guys like Jazz, there is just nothing more satisfying than knowing what you're doing is gonna cause a whole fuckton of problems and doing it anyway because you don't give a shit. For me it went both ways, depending.

_One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty nineteen eighteen seventeen sixteen fifteen_

Bella was watching me from the head of the bed, all on edge, probably just waiting for me to lose it completely. Some nice, deep breaths. I didn't expect this whole relaxation technique business to work but right now I'd try anything.

_seven six five four three two one two three for five six seven eight nine_

I had tried, I swear to Christ I had really fucking given it my best shot. I wasn't lying about that. I told myself it didn't matter if I slept. I could go a night without sleep, sure I could. Just lie there like an immobile thing and keep Bella happy, seeing as how she was in this great mood and looking so cute. Did she know her cheeks got all red when we were going at it and she was really into it? Huh? Did she know that? Or like how she would moan and fuck that sounded so awesome. And afterward, just lying on me and blushing with her hair messed up, totally spent and pliant.

I had the idea that we should've done this at her place so I could leave afterwards, but that wouldn't have been any better. Worse, maybe, because once was a dick move and twice was enough that she'd never let me have another go. That'd be it.

The greedy kid in me had for real screwed something up by going for it the way I had, but it was like I needed to get my hands on Bella whenever I had that chance because there weren't going to be a lot of chances. I was stumbling too much, and it was only a matter of time before I screwed this up royally. Bella was a chick; she wanted to cuddle or all like that, at least, and I was too impatient before and too freaked out after to make it happen for her.

The concept of fairness entered my head, that there was a system here that I was not following the rules of. I didn't even know what those rules were, but I got from the way Bella was upset that I was doing it wrong. The more I thought about it the more angry with myself I got, because seriously, how hard could this really be? Suck it up; be a man. Tell a girl what she wants to hear and give a little back to even things out.

Couldn't do it though; wasn't gonna happen. Not right then, anyway. And when I dropped Bella off back at her house I was ready to snap from the strain. Like what, like I couldn't keep it together for fifteen God damn minutes while I drove a girl home? Jesus.

Tuesday Jasper came home to shower and put on clean clothes. I tossed around the idea of asking him for advice, like what I should do as far as the whole Bella thing went, but there was no real point in that. Jazz's situation, it was just too different from mine. Anything he could give me on this one, I wasn't going to be able to use. He did send a couple of half-cocked grins my way when we were both in the kitchen, making me think that however Bella felt about my malfunction, word hadn't spread through the ranks yet.

I had to give her credit on that one. That was nice. She could have gone running directly to her friend and told all and it would have looped back around to Jazz trying to casually toss out lines at me, but she didn't. That was nice. That was a nice thing for her to do. I was self-conscious enough without knowing I was the talk of Port Angeles.

"Hey, alright, twice now. That's gotta be some kind of record for you right?" Jazz grinned at me from across the living room where he was sprawled on the sofa and I rolled my eyes.

"I've banged a chick more than twice, Jazz."

I stretched my legs out to rest my feet on the coffee table, and Jazz gave me a stern look. Oh, right, no shoes on the pussy-inspired furniture. We were up another chair now, Jazz having brought it home with him that afternoon. I'd tossed out some line about it not matching the first one and Jazz hadn't laughed. He'd wanted to, though. If Jazz wasn't careful, he'd fuck his way into a complete remodel, and I was _not_ helping him haul that huge-ass piano down the stairs.

"Yeah, but on more than one occasion?" He raised his eyebrows and smirked. Jazz was enjoying this whole Bella and me business; God knew why.

Sadly, though, the man had a point. It wasn't that I was opposed to repeat performance so much as, well, if you act a certain way the first time, odds of a second time are far less favorable. Anyway, after twice the girl's probably going to think you have some kind of thing together.

That was where Bella and I were now. We had some kind of thing together.

After Jazz left, presumably to go back to Alice and Bella's since it wasn't like we knew anyone else around here, I tried to make myself something to eat. "Tried" being the operative word, since suddenly nothing we had was any good. Jazz's tastes and mine differed tremendously, as in he ate complete crap. Ingredients I couldn't pronounce that for sure were not found in nature. Even my own food, the organic rice and fruit from the special little market in Port Angeles, was suspect. Fish, because everyone in this fucking country lived on seafood. That had mercury in it, didn't it? Poison, basically. I threw it away. Ended up eating beer and granola, which was good enough for me I supposed.

I barely slept, and instead of being full of energy and agitation my world was muted and grey. Jazz never came back, giving nothing to interrupt the way the hours blurred together. This was pathetic. I felt pathetic. I decided we were just going to count Tuesday as a total wash and move on. Move on to _what_, I didn't know.

Most of the time, I wondered what the hell I even saw in Bella. She could be so fucking annoying. She wasn't stupid but she didn't _get_ things, didn't know or understand. We had next to nothing in common, and she couldn't see where I was coming from and most always that would just piss me off. Shitty when someone doesn't get you, and worse when they think that they do. There was this thing there though, like she was a bulb clicking on and off or I don't know, some kind of intermittent bright light. I liked that, kind of? She made me feel bright.

And maybe there was no such thing as an actually nice person, a belief I continued to hold fast to, but Bella was close. She _wanted_ to be one, and that had to be the nearest a human got. There were things I needed to reconcile, sure. She'd smacked me one, okay, but I deserved it right? That was on me. And I thought she felt bad, and I didn't believe she'd try to do it again, but if she did it would be my fault again. I was the man here, and that was just how it worked. I needed to be able to handle myself like a man instead of this cowering bullshit. Not just because Bella was Bella, but because I was a man and that was how they were supposed to do.

What did Bella see in me? It came back to that. What did she want? I needed to know. Not in this suspicious accusatory way anymore, but really, what was I supposed to be _doing_? What did she _want? _I wanted to give it to her, I really fucking did, without getting why. She had to think I was the biggest shitsack right about now. I was, wasn't I? Just a complete asshole. No amount of "oh this is different" intrigue made up for being this worthless.

Worthlessness, I could handle most of the time. I liked keeping the world's expectations of me low. Less for me to deal with. Being useless had carried me this far. Bella expected things from me though. I had to be able to give her something back, even just the tiniest thing, if I was any kind of man.

_I like you Bella. I_ like _you, Bella. I like you. I like…_

Tried saying it out loud a few times. Made me so incredibly ill.

_I like you. Bella, I like you. _

Thank fucking God she'd seemed to get the point without that, 'cause if we'd had to wait until I could make myself say it we'd still be nowhere. _Oh yeah, like we were somewhere now?_

Not really.

_I like…_

This was one of those problems I couldn't admit to anyone, not even Jazz. Too much trouble, and fucking embarrassing besides. I was a man for Christ's sake, and I should act like one. Like how hard is that, those three words? I told myself, "Just pretend they don't mean anything. They're just words. You can say them. Make it happen." Pacing my bedroom, rubbing my face and forcing myself to think that thought. Maybe try them out of order, make them not mean anything? I spoke out loud to the wall, feeling like the total and utter jackass I was.

"Like. I. You. You. Like. I. I Like… I like…"

_I like…_

This shit was ridiculous. Why did it _matter_? Only it totally did.

Most of what I knew about impressing a woman came from watching Jazz. He was so fucking slick all the time, putting work into it and making it seem offhand. He had a natural flair for people that I lacked. I wouldn't be able to fake it so I didn't try.

WWJD: What Would Jazz Do?

Jazz would get his ass to town and find a phone so he could call his woman. _My woman._ _Ha_.

Only problem was that I still didn't have Bella's phone number. She'd never given it to me. I didn't even have Alice's number, since Jazz was out God knew where doing God knew what with the woman in question. Most likely earning himself rights to additional pieces of home furnishing. Plan B was to throw on a sweatshirt and walk the half a mile from the house to the highway and see if I could get a ride to somewhere in the vague direction of my ultimate goal.

Bella. What was she doing right now?

I didn't bother trying to hitchhike since in addition to being the prime demographic of a serial killer I knew I looked like shit after not sleeping very well. There was no point, and stopping for each pickup or big rig that went by would only slow me down. By the time I got to Port Angeles the sun was high above the trees, putting it at nearly but not quite noon. I was sweaty and disgusting, no real goal in my mind other than to talk to Bella and maybe make up for last night. I found the way to her house easily enough, my feet killing me and fatigue beginning to creep up on me.

She wasn't home.

The blonde one was. Fantastic.

I was in no kind of mood for her, staring at the metal strip along the bottom of the doorframe rather than look at her face, simultaneously trying to remember her name and wanting to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. Rose, that's what it was. Like her boyfriend's tattoo.

"Do you call on all the girls looking this dapper?"

_Just be quiet_, I reminded myself. _Just keep your fucking mouth shut. _Yeah she was a bitch and the urge to tell her so… would only set her off. And she was halfway there already. Definitely going to stonewall me at the very least.

"No. I've been walking." I forced myself to take it nice and easy. "Is she… at class?"

Class was a good bet, right? Midday on a Wednesday. Shit, what the hell was I even doing here? The blonde smiled, parting red lips in a way that was technically a smile and yet was definitely not friendly. I began to get antsy; the sooner she said whatever it was she was going to say, the sooner this nice little interaction we were having could end.

"That's something you wouldn't know about, right?" Rosalie asked me. "Having class?"

Oh ho. Wasn't _she_ so clever.

"What's your problem?" I asked, my jaw tight. "I haven't done shit to you."

Princess rolled her eyes at me so hard I became concerned she would sprain something.

"You might think I'm a bitch, but I'm not going to sit here and let some guy treat my friend like crap. It's so obvious you're making Bella unhappy, which means you're not treating her right. Yet you're still around which means that, like always, she's putting up with shit she shouldn't have to put up with. God, she needs to grow a pair. Metaphorically, I mean. I'm open-minded, but I'm not ready for a hermaphroditic housemate."

Stern lecturing mixed with scatological wit. It was tough to argue with that. And ouch. I was making Bella unhappy? _Was_ I? Shit, probably. If nothing else, last night had really cemented my malfunctioning status in this two-person equation. And that knowledge gave this chick's words a stinging power.

"I just wanted to talk to her," I mumbled stupidly.

I'd have thought Bella's housemate would give me more seeing as how they say predators can sense weakness and all, but she just told me Bella'd be up at the school for a few more hours. Walking up to the campus really felt like pushing the limit, pursuit-wise, but what the hell else was I going to go? After ten miles, what was one more? The blonde bulldog did let me into the house long enough to take a piss and splash some cold water on my face, and then I was off again.

With no real clue where Bella might be this time of day, I went back to the only building I was familiar with; the scene of the crime, so to speak. With the sun trying to come out and kids standing around wearing backpacks and clustering, it was different that it had been on either of the past two occasions. Christ, everyone looked so young. It was like being at a high school. A very expensive, pretentious high school.

College campuses were glossy and fake, I decided. They were this perfect picture of academia where students could get super into their books or their science or whatever they were learning, but the real _important_ thing was that they got to avoid reality for as long as they could get Mommy and Daddy and the government to pay for it. They might not have gotten that that was what they were doing, but it was. All around me now I saw a skewed perception of reality that included post-modern feminist theory but not single moms living off of welfare.

I spotted Bella exiting the building after about twenty-five minutes of the most uncomfortable aimless wandering ever. She was surrounded by this total deluge of students, so it took me a few seconds to see that she was already with someone. That professor, the one from the party. Carlisle of the rigid deadlines. He whose office I'd helped bust into and whose solid oak desk I'd wanted with every fiber of my being to bend Bella over. He was smiling and resting his hand on her shoulder with way too much familiarity. Not okay.

"I apologize for being in such a rush on Monday," I heard him telling her when I got closer. "If you'd like, we can discuss your paper now. I have some time."

Bella started to answer him right when she noticed me, and her jaw dropped. I chose not to take that as a negative reaction, even though I surely looked like hell. I dragged my hand through my hair and used it to swipe at the sweat on the back of my neck. Me being here, that was okay, right? Jesus, if only she'd given me her phone number. I had nothing real to say anyway, but when I saw that dickhead's hand on her shoulder I cared only about inserting myself in the situation.

"Oh yeah, did you have some kind of problem with your paper?" I asked casually, sidling up to the two of them. I stared hard at Carlisle while I said it, my eyes traveling from his face to his hand on Bella's shoulder and back again. He let his arm fall to his side. Right.

"Uhm, no, I mean, well, yes, but I solved it on my own," Bella responded, flustered. It was a good look for her. I enjoyed that, enough to tease her a little more.

"Really?" I feigned innocent incredulity. "All by yourself?"

She chewed her thumbnail, attempting to navigate an answer, while Carlisle bore the confused half-smile of a guy who knows there's something he's missing. I enjoyed that too.

"Well, you know, with your help, of course."

Bella smiled at me, but the muscles in her eyes didn't get all tight and I knew I was making her nervous. So skittish about playing this game; where was the fun in that? Jazz would have enjoyed it. Her professor swung his gaze back from Bella to me when she stopped talking, this stupid smile lighting up his features. Can a person just _look _dumb? He did. He had a stupid face.

"Well that was nice of you," he told me, all genial. "Actually, it's quite fortuitous that you should show up now; I've been meaning to ask Bella if I might have a word with you."

Have a word with me? More like a shit ton of words, if I pegged this guy correctly, 'cause he was for sure the verbose type. Loved to hear himself talk. Bella's eyes got big and I recognized the panic on her features. She thought we were busted. Paranoia causes that, and the paranoia is caused by guilt. It was a good assumption, because what the fuck else could her teacher want to talk to me about? Except I had no guilt and plus I was confident there was no way he was on to us. How could he be? My mind rapidly catalogued any indicators left behind. Fingerprints, I guessed. Not anywhere they wouldn't be if I'd just entered the building and tried to open his door. I hadn't even physically touched Bella's paper.

Retrospectively, I was going to wish that was what he wanted to hassle me about.

"I've been pondering what you told me the other night, about it being difficult for someone with a criminal history to obtain a higher education. Naturally, I understand that there was a certain degree of facetiousness to your statement. Nevertheless, I felt your point held merit."

"Yeah… okay… ?" If he was looking to agree with me he was late on that train. Not to mention it wasn't as if I needed his validation.

"I took the liberty of broaching the topic with one of my colleagues who works with at-risk youth and younger adults such as yourself. And she was telling me with the right amount of dedication there were programs and things available, particularly if the individual were to have an interested sponsor…"

I froze and stared at him. He was one hundred percent for real right then, taking some dick comment I'd made and turning it into this whole big thing. I stood there listening to him go on, wondering just what the fuck kind of planet Bella's professor came from. He was talking about scholarships and whatever now, mentioning this "close colleague" of his and her marvelous charity with the at-risk youth. I'd always hated that term. It sounds like it's trying to make it personal while still being totally dehumanizing. Nice trick.

And then there was the look on Bella's face, like maybe she was intrigued by what this asshole had to say on the matter. I need to shut this down _immediately_.

"And of course I don't know the particular aspects of your situation, which is why I was hoping to discuss it with you. I do believe that, given your obvious level of intelligence, were you to meet with her you might very well be a candidate."

It was my total shock at being caught off-guard that stopped me from saying anything and just letting him ramble on. I got the implication here, even if he didn't. The idea was that this would be a huge, miraculous improvement for me, meaning that I required improving. That it would be more and therefore I was currently less. That _he_ was more, above, while I was below. Was that how Bella saw me? If it wasn't, why the interested look on her pretty face as she listened to her professor rattle off what he no doubt thought was super helpful. It was bullshit. My nails dug into the heels of my palms, so tight were my fists. _Temper, temper, Edward._

"Stop." I rolled my shoulders back and gave him a hard look, Bella preemptively wincing beside me. Oh, _that_ was nice. "Stop. What the hell makes you think I would even want your help? Like why would I even want that?" No offense to Bella, but it wasn't like her degree was going to actually prepare her for anything.

Carlisle was taken aback, as if the idea had legit never occurred to him, and in all probability it hadn't. Bella was mortified. Whatever; shit had gotten way too personal here.

"I- Well, I suppose if the idea of accepting charity is somewhat abhorrent to you, which would be understandable…"

"You don't understand shit," I informed him through gritted teeth. "Maybe I like my life how it is, and not because I'm too backwards and uneducated to know any better." Fucking _unbelievable._ Was it so disgusting to him that I didn't have a useless rectangle of paper to tack to my wall? And how charitable would Carlisle be feeling were he aware that when this messed up conversation started I'd thought he was about to nail me for _breaking into his office._

_Temper, temper._

"It certainly was not my intention to imply that. However, you don't seem very content an individual to me," Carlisle noted. He smiled at me and I was reminded in that look of the subtle differences between sympathy and pity. WWJD? Clock this guy in the fucking jaw.

"Pretty sure that's because I have some asshole in a sport coat on my jock," I shot back, sneering. I tilted my head toward Bella. "Can we talk?" Barely making it a question.

I backed up a few steps, waiting until the last minute to break off eye contact with Carlisle before turning around and walking away. Seconds later there was the sound of rubber soles slapping on concrete and Bella was back at my side.

"I am _so_ sorry," she began immediately, punching a wide hole in my anger. "I know he was only trying to help-"

"I don't need help," I muttered.

Bella moved in front of me to block my path and smiled up at me, and my fury abruptly began to dissolve. Now I remembered why I'd wanted so badly to see her. Christ she was cute. And being totally sweet right now, and it wasn't her fault if her professor was a dick.

"You came up here to see me?" Bella wanted to know, still smiling patiently.

"Yeah, I guess, I mean I was around…"

If by "around" I meant somewhere within the same county. She didn't ask what I was doing in Port Angeles, which was good because I was crap at lying and too embarrassed to admit I'd walked all the way out here just to see her for no real reason I could discern other than that…. I wanted to see her. I chewed the inside of my cheek. I was a moron, wasn't I?

"Do- are you hungry? We could eat?"

"Sure." Still smiling. Still cute as hell.

Bella led me to the student café, where they didn't so much have real food as sandwiches and drinks and things. We sat outside at one of the wooden tables, and it wobbled each time one of us shifted in out seat. You'd think with the money this place had to be raking in that they'd spring for new tables. Maybe if Alice made it with someone on faculty.

I picked carefully through my food and pushed aside anything that looked suspect because it made me feel better. That was always comfort, like getting rid of dirty things. As if I could keep my body clean inside when it was already this dirty junked thing. Crackers, likely to have preservatives so those were out. Pre-packaged cookies, no fucking way. I stared at Bella's soda with sheer malevolence, willing it out of my sight as she picked it up and took a long drink.

"Do you even know what's in that?" I heard myself asking, this total dick move.

Bella froze with the can in midair and looked at me like I was crazy, which I fucking was but I couldn't stop myself.

"All kinds of ridiculous shit. Potassium benzoate. You know what that is? They put that in _fireworks. _You mix it with citric acid, which by the way your soda also has, and it can _cause cancer._"

Bella set down her drink and stared at it, the beverage officially ruined for her. There was no satisfaction in being such a dickhead. It was good to rant though, some kind of twisted relief from all the stress I was under after the confrontation with Carlisle and Monday night and everything. I went back to scrutinizing my own food, wondering what would be the thing that finally made Bella tell me to go fuck myself, and when it would happen and how bad it would be. It was becoming almost like a sadistic game I was playing with myself, now that I was aware of it. _How far can you push her? How quickly can you get to the end?_

"Are you going to La Push this weekend?" Bella wanted to know. I shrugged.

See, I'd come out looking for her with this idea that I had some things I needed to say, but now that we were together, if she wasn't going to make me say them then I wouldn't. I pushed it all aside in my head to make room for meaningless idle chatter which, by the way, I normally hated.

"Yeah, I told Mrs. Clearwater I'd clean out her garage." And Jazz didn't know it yet but I was making him help out too, just for giving me shit yesterday.

"Is it still okay if I come along?"

Was it? "Sure."

Bella leaned back, rocking the bench and taking a bite of her sandwich. White bread. Bleached flour. She was pretty much eating bleach.

_Hey Bella, I like…._

"Maybe afterwards we could, I dunno, do something. Or something." I rolled my lips inward after I blurted the suggestion. Bella's whole face lit up. I'd maybe gotten something right.

"You mean like a date?" She jounced on the bench, sending the table shaking and causing some of her soda to splash out of the can. I could hear it fizzing on the wood and aluminum.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so." I scratched at the back of my neck. Shit, what had I just committed myself to?

"Okay, that sounds nice."

Pretty certain I'd never been on a real date before. Or even a sort of date. Not unless the drinks you bought a chick at a bar before taking her home and fucking her counted, and I was guessing they didn't. Bella beamed down at her sandwich and took another bite, and in that moment I simultaneously forgave her for her wretched dietary habits and wish so hard that we weren't surrounded by a sea of students because I would have just gone for her so fast if we hadn't been. Guess I'd have to wait though. You know, until our "date."

*************

**Thank you _so much_ to everyone for reading this. It means a stupid amount to me, seriously.  
**

**Special thanks to WTVOC for helping me out with editing this chapter, and also to a certain someone who I_ know_ enjoys a good hassling. **


	21. Chapter 21

**BPOV**

My mother had always hated Forks. She expressed it both directly and as a series of constant, subtle digs. She couldn't wait to leave, and there was no doubt in my mind that she would never come back. The entire time she was here for my father's funeral and to help sort through his things I could feel her physically pulling away, withdrawing as much as she was able from the zip code in which she now found herself.

She required an exciting, high-stimulus environment that could keep up with her almost total lack of attention span, and both my father and the Olympic Peninsula could never hope to provide that for her. Not only that, but her sunny disposition did best when the weather matched it. Phoenix, for example, with its arid brightness and sprawling occupation, had been perfect. Forks's relative isolation and near constant overcast gloom, not so much.

"There's three kinds of weather in Forks," Mom would say. "Raining, just finished raining, and just about to rain." This was her biting condemnation hidden with the confines of a folksy colloquialism.

She was right about the weather, of course. But unlike my mother, however, I found myself quite partial to the local climate. It was a refreshing change from Arizona, where the dry air and scorching heat left my skin feeling like crepe paper and the direct sunlight caused my nose and shoulders to turn red and peel no matter how many gallons of sun block I slathered on. I liked the rain too; it smelled nice and left everything around me lush and green. Forks seemed quite literally cleaner than Phoenix.

It might have been this attitude that made me to disregard the weather that Saturday morning, the gentle threat that the light drizzle presented against my day. Or it might have been that I was simply too preoccupied to really notice. Things were looking up with Edward – the most they had so far – and we even had loose plans for some kind of "date" that evening after he and Jazz were done at La Push. I was at my most foolishly optimistic.

Even La Push, with its dirt-gradually-turning-into-mud and rain-smeared or otherwise dilapidated houses, held a certain beauty for me that morning when we arrived just after 10am. We were in Alice's car, because once she'd heard that the three of us were taking a day trip she would _not_ be left out. She was driving, with Jazz beside her in the passenger seat poking and prodding everything within arm's reach. He seemed especially fascinated by the stereo and the way that Alice's iPod was hooked up to it, and the rest of us were subjected to a different song every ten to thirty seconds.

At the opposite side of the back seat, Edward was slouched down and reclined with his eyes closed and a frown on his face. I wondered whether the cacophonous music changes were giving him a headache.

"I think I broke it," Jazz announced worriedly, holding up the iPod for inspection.

I directed my attention forward and saw that he'd unclipped the hot pink hard plastic protective case from its exterior and was now attempting to reattach it inexpertly. Alice glanced over and burst into giggles at Jazz's fretful concentration. Relaxed by this reaction, Jazz grinned and shrugged. He dumped the entire thing into its resting place in the center console and dramatically folding his arms to his body. Alice reached over and ruffled his hair, and Jazz responded by snatching her hand and kissing it.

Envy shot through me at the gesture. Jazz and Alice were so happy; too happy. Everything about their incongruous existences fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces. I secretly resented them for it. Edward was now tapping his fingers against his knee in mild agitation, his eyes still closed. What would he do if I reached out to him, attempted to take his hand in mine I was so nervous of a negative reaction that I dared not try. I wouldn't even offer him aspirin, in the event that doing so would spur a lecture on how bad said analgesic was for the human body.

What was with that, anyway? Okay, I got that maybe my diet wasn't exactly ideal, but it was hardly a travesty. Wasn't eating junk food part of what being young and living on your own for the first time was all about? I didn't smoke, I _barely_ drank, and I didn't do drugs. Surely the occasional Dr Pepper and box of "cheez" crackers weren't peeling years off of my life or inflicting any serious, lasting damage to my body. Apparently Edward disagreed.

There had been several lectures about food and drink aimed my way in the past few days, and it seemed to me as though Edward might be getting worse about his diet. Whenever he'd get picky about his food (and "picky" was an understatement on par with calling a colonoscopy "unpleasant") Jazz would either acknowledge it with a placating smile and a suggested alternative or else ignore it entirely. I, who was less used to it, had a more difficult time accommodating it.

I still had yet to discern the origin behind that particular quirk. Really, it was only one example of the ways in which Edward was somewhat, well, neurotic. I would not have expected that of someone of his background, and his insistence upon organic whole grains and kosher meat seemed wholly incongruous with a guy like Edward. I wasn't sure _why_ it didn't fit – it just didn't. My mental picture of those with a criminal background was dictated not only by the media but also by my father's chosen profession and the people he came into contact with on a regular basis.

Other than that, though, Edward was really being a lot better. He'd voluntarily sought me out at school, and it wasn't until later that I found out he'd stopped at the house and asked Rosalie my whereabouts. I was dying to know how that conversation between the two of them had gone, considering Edward's prior reactions to Rose and the unmistakable fact that she was less than impressed with him, but neither of them had divulged. I was left to speculate and to worry, hoping that Rosalie had behaved herself but simultaneously certain she had not.

Not only that, but Edward was coming over with Jazz every afternoon or evening to hang out and watch television. He still wasn't spending the night, but I accepted that we were going to have to work on that. The important thing was that he was making the effort to be social and, well, more normal. I appreciated that. I told myself that maybe he was beginning to open up a little. I was slowly wearing through his defenses. Hey, any progress was still progress.

The familiarity with which Jazz directed Alice through La Push, up Ocean Front Drive and onto the side street where Jake and his dad lived, startled me. I knew they'd been coming here every weekend, and yet I thought of this as my own turf in some way. And when Jazz and Edward hopped out of the car and greeted Jake with casual friendliness, I realized that two separate spheres of my life had merged considerably.

"You should put this on. Your sweater's not waterproof."

It was Edward who spoke to me, now shrugging out of his jacket with determination.

"Then you'll be cold," I pointed out, nevertheless pleased at the gesture.

Edward's expression offered no room for argument as he passed the garment my way, and I indulged myself a girlish inhale of his scent as I pulled it on. One thing about Edward – his clothes were always clean and lightely scented with detergent. I recalled Jazz's previous passing reference to Edward's tidiness. The state of his room bore this mark. Apparently, it extended onto his laundering habits as well. That must have taken effort, considering the nearest Laundromat to their house would have been in Forks or Port Angeles. I made a mental note to, at a later time, somehow communicate to Edward that he was welcome to do his laundry at our house. Maybe Rose would be more inclined toward him after seeing indicators of his domesticity.

Jazz proudly introduced my best friend to Jake before I got the chance to, and then he and Edward were off to Sue Clearwater's to get started on their work. The rain was heavier here on the coast than it had been back in Port Angeles, but that was typical so I thought nothing of it. We'd all be inside, anyway: Edward and Jazz in the Clearwater's garage, and Alice and I standing around awkwardly with Jake.

I didn't know when things had become somewhat "off" between Jake and me. When we'd been very young, we'd been playmates. At the start of my adolescence he was still my closest compatriot in Forks, and when I'd moved in with my father permanently Jake had been my only friend for a long time while I adjusted to my new school and unfamiliar classmates. Somewhere around his sixteenth birthday, however, it felt as though we'd begun to drift apart.

I'd sought advice from my dad, and to him the answer was obvious. He let me know that he was pretty sure Jake had "a thing" for me, meaning feelings of the I-want-to-kiss-you kind. I had no such feelings toward Jake in return, so I did my best to make that clear when we were together. I would have hoped that he'd simply get a girlfriend of his own and move on, but that hadn't happened. Three and a half years later, here was Jake: nineteen, perpetually single, working on his car and hanging out with the older boys on the Rez.

Alice, of course, was not aware of the delicacy of the situation. She launched right in as soon as she was certain Jazz and Edward were out of earshot.

"He gave you his coat!" she teased. "How gentlemanly!"

"Who gave you his coat?" Jake wanted to know right away.

He scrutinized the garment carefully, looking for answers. My cheeks began to heat; this was not the conversation to have in front of my erstwhile best friend.

"Edward," I mumbled, wincing as Jake's face fell. Hastening to change the subject, I went on in a brighter voice, "Jake, this is my friend Alice. Alice, this is Jake. I've talked about him, remember?" I assumed I had at some point, anyway.

Whether I had or not, Alice's features lit up with warm recognition and she thrust a hand forward to shake. Alice knew how to handle these kinds of situations tactfully.

"Oh, right, Jake! I've heard a lot about you; it's great to finally meet you!" Her enthusiasm and the implication that I'd mentioned him to other people did nothing to cheer Jake up. I hoped this wouldn't cause any sort of rift between him and Edward.

Outside, the rain was beginning to gather energy. It tapped insistently on the aluminum siding of the shed-cum-garage's and droplets blew in the open doorway. Jake looked out into the air as he wiped off his hands on a threadbare rag, then cocked is head in a way that reminded me of Edward.

"It's going to get worse," he said, more to himself than to Alice or me. "We should go back to the house. Dad's home – didn't go fishing today 'cause of the rain. He'll be happy to see you, _Bella_."

I heard the distasteful way Jake pronounced my name and instinctively pulled the jacket tighter around me. I'd never seen Jake display such a prominent lack of cheerfulness.

At Jake's insistence Alice and I went on ahead to the house, leaving him to put his tools away and pull the drop sheet back over his ancient car alone. Sure enough, Billy was seated in his wheelchair at the kitchen table. He had the different sections of the newspaper spread out before him and the TV blaring some kind of sports program on the counter, but when he saw us his weathered face split into a wide grin.

"Bells! Didn't expect to see company on a day like this. And who's your friend here? Nice to meet you, Young Miss; I'm Billy."

My father had once told me that when he was younger, Billy Black could have charmed the skin off a snake. It was an odd metaphor, but I understood his point. Even now, Billy had the kind of personality that made everyone want to come to him for everything. His house had become the central meeting place for much of La Push, even despite the recent addition of a community center. It was a good thing because it meant that he was almost never alone though his daughters had moved away for school and Jake never left the garage except to go to the Call's. Sue Clearwater was the most frequent guest, and I suspected she had "a thing" for Billy, to use Dad's words.

Billy was in characteristically high spirits and a chatty mood besides. When Jake came inside I helped him to get a fire going while, in the next room over, Billy paid Alice the sort of compliments older men always pay to their young waitresses and female bank tellers. He meant nothing by it, and Alice humored him with soft laughs and cheerful responses. Jake remained sullen.

"So, you and Edward, huh?" he asked, not meeting my gaze as he shoved kindling in the fireplace. "How long's that been going on? Like, a while?" He was trying to sound casual but wasn't succeeding.

"Not really," I admitted.

After all, I still wasn't sure what exactly Edward and I even had going. I'd have a better idea after our date tonight, I reasoned. It would give us a real chance to talk without, ahem, getting distracted. Jake grunted in acknowledgement.

"You don't seem like his type," was all he offered. I struggled not to take that personally.

The four of us situated ourselves in the living room, Alice and Jake on the sofa and Billy and I sitting opposing. The armchair in which I was situated had to be older than everyone in the room but Billy, and it took a good amount of shifting before I was comfortably situated. The fire crackled pleasantly at one end of the room, creating soft background music in conjunction with the rain.

"I hope Edward and Jazz are keeping dry," I worried, thinking of their plans to work on cleaning Mrs. Clearwater's garage.

"It'd probably be a lot easier if you hadn't taken Edward's coat," Jake commented unexpectedly.

Alice and I both turned to him in surprise, but Jake merely got up to poke at the fire and add more wood. Alice caught my attention and gave me a meaningful look, which I returned with a helpless shrug of my own. If Jake was jealous of Edward, there was simply nothing I could do about it. That was his prerogative, though I'd have hoped he would handle it like an adult. After all, he'd never been like this about Mike. Then again, he'd also never met Mike in person, and I'd come by La Push a lot less frequently in that period following my dad's death.

I was interrupted in my musing by a gentle knock that still managed to rattle the rickety screen door in the kitchen. It swung open and clattered closed again, and then Sue Clearwater was standing before us in a fleece jacket and hat.

"Cats and dogs, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically, shrugging out of her scarf. "I'm lucky my Leah's such a talented knitter. Look what she made me!"

Sue proudly displayed the damp scarf in her hands for Alice's and my inspection, and we "ooh"ed and "aww"ed appropriately. After this, Sue returned to the kitchen and began rummaging around the cupboards with the familiarity of someone who came to this house often.

"Who wants tea?" she called out, receiving a round of replies in the affirmative.

"Are Edward and Jazz still working on the garage?" I asked her when she'd put the kettle on and come to sit with us.

Sue smiled benevolently and nodded. Behind her at the fireplace, Jake shot me an unhappy almost-glare which I ignored.

It was impossible not to like Sue Clearwater, was my theory. The woman exuded maternalality, if there was any such word, in unparalleled amounts, and was inexhaustibly cheery besides.

"That boy is a hard worker," she informed us proudly, and I could only assume she meant Edward. Not that Jazz was totally lazy, but I hardly would have called him industrious. From what I could tell he was more interested in Alice and having a good time than in manual labor of any kind.

"I bet they're making a lot of progress," Billy contributed, just for something to say. Sue nodded.

"I tried to tell them they didn't need to worry about it, but Edward insisted that since they'd already driven all the way out here they might as well. _Then _I asked if they wouldn't rather find something inside the house to do – the back office closet is a mess with all of Harry's fishing gear and things – but Edward didn't want to. I suppose he's one of those people who, once he's got a plan, just can't bring himself to deviate from it. Does that make sense?"

It did make sense, and I found that to be both an unusual and entirely apt way of describing Edward. It was strange, talking about him like this when he wasn't present. Sure, Alice and I had gone on about Edward on more than one occasion. Sometimes with Jazz. Sue saw a different side of Edward, though, at least from the sound of things. I was jealous, but I also wondered how much, exactly, she knew about him.

The kettle whistled, signaling the water's readiness, and Sue dispensed mugs of English Breakfast Tea to everyone in the living room. For a while we talked about those idle, pleasant topics that one discusses when one is not overly familiar with the company. Billy's fishing was going well, though he needed to do some work on his boat before he could take it out again, so in the meantime he was taking his trips with Mr. Ateara, a man I didn't know very well. Sue expressed her opinion that Billy shouldn't be going out on his own in his "condition" anyway, but Billy shrugged her off. After a while Billy asked Jake to help him upstairs for a nap, leaving Sue to collect our tea mugs.

The rain was hammering relentless against the house now, loudest at the windows and enough that we had to raise our voices to be heard over it. Jake clattered down the stairs after a few minutes and stoked the fire. Sue offered to make more tea.

"Jake, dear," she called to him from the kitchen. "Why don't you run over to my place and fetch the boys. It has to be freezing in that garage."

I started to get to my feet while simultaneously opening my mouth to tell Jake that I'd go, but I was met with his challenging gaze.

"I'll be right back," he answered Sue loudly, not taking his eyes off of me.

Startled, I sank back down into the lumpy cushions. Jake threw on his coat and was clattering out the back door without another look in my direction. I sighed.

"Well, that's awkward," I grumbled.

"No kidding," Alice agreed.

"If Jake was a dog and I were a tree, he'd be lifting his leg right about now," I mused.

"You think Jake's jealous of _Edward_ because of _you_?" Alice asked, disbelieving.

I frowned. What was she implying? That I was nothing to be jealous over? Ouch. Sure, I was no blonde bombshell or epitome of petite vibrancy, but I also wasn't some hideously deformed ogre. I could attract men.

"Well, yeah. I mean, look how he's acting. You don't know him, but I have _never _known Jake to be so cranky. He's the most upbeat person in the world, next to Jazz. We've always been close, and he's kind of had this thing for me for a while. Clearly, seeing me with someone else is putting him in a bad mood."

Alice smirked at me, indicating that I was missing the joke. When my frowned deepened, my eyes narrowing, she laughed.

"You need to get your gaydar checked, Bella," she informed me seriously.

My jaw dropped. What exactly was Alice implying? That Jake… was…? _Jake_? No, that couldn't be possible. I would have noticed; I would have _known_. Liberace was gay. That guy from American Idol with the eyeliner and the glitter was gay. Jake was… _gay_?

There was almost no time to fully absorb Alice's words before Sue came back in and smiled at us as she took her seat. She cast a quick look in the direction of the stairs to the second floor before leaning in conspiratorially.

"So," she said to me.

It was an invitation to speak; to dish about the young men currently occupied in cleaning out her garage. Was she thinking the same thing that Jake had vocalized earlier, that Edward was not my type and vice versa? Another, unrelated question that sprang to my mind was, if Jake was gay, did Sue know or at least suspect? Was this yet another thing I had been totally oblivious about? And was Edward a lot friendlier with Mrs. Clearwater than he was with me? It sure sounded like it. What about with Jake? There were plenty of things I could say and questions I could ask now that I'd been provided with this new opportunity. Taking advantage of our newfound privacy, I turned to Sue.

"Does Edward eat your cooking?" I asked carefully.

Alice cupped her hand over her mouth and Sue raised her eyebrows.

"Excuse me?"

Yeah, because that was a question that didn't carry any insulting implications with it. _Way to go, Bella. _Not like there would be room for _anyone_'s cooking in my mouth, what with my foot taking up recent residence. I cleared my throat and prepared to dislodge said appendage from my gullet. Hastening to clarify, I explained about Edward's strict self-imposed dietary habits that would make even an Orthodox Jew raise an eyebrow. Sue listened carefully. When I finished, she let out a thoughtful hum over the rim of her tea mug.

"That's very interesting," was her only comment.

"Isn't it?" Alice agreed with energy, as though she'd been just _waiting_ for someone else to express this opinion so that she could be free to agree with it.

"What do you think it means?" was my next query.

"I don't know," Sue admitted. "I'm afraid I don't know much about Edward other than the fact that he'd very polite and rather quiet."

On the couch, Alice snorted. I gave Sue a very condense, rather _sanitized_ version of Edward's history as I currently knew it. It wouldn't strike me until later that it was very much like something Jazz might have conjured. In fact, it bore a strong resemblance to what he'd told Alice and me that night when the three of us and gone drinking. Way to barely scratch the surface, Jazz.

"Oh," Sue said when she'd heard what was not even _close_ to everything. "Well, then, that makes sense."

It did?

"Imagine your entire life was in a constant state of upheaval, Bella," Sue explained, anticipating my confusion. "Wouldn't you try to create some sort of order for yourself?"

Would I? Well, sure I would. When my mother had moved us to Arizona, I'd pitched a massive fit about my new bedroom not being set up _exactly_ the same way my old one had been. It'd taken a fresh paint job, new curtains, rearranging the furniture, and my father shipping a giant box of bedding and stuffed animals before my five-year-old self had been satisfied. As an adult, of course, I recognized that my real problem wasn't with my room but with the idea of my life changing in general. I didn't want to move to Phoenix. I didn't _want_ my parents to split up.

Even now it was the same. I had not touched a single thing in my father's house since he'd died. I'd moved out and preserved everything exactly as it was, this collection of everything that had been important to him in his life. I technically owned an entire home, yet paid rent on a room in another house a few towns away.

For the first time I saw something that Edward and I might have in common, even if it was something rather small and tangential. To compare the difficulties in my own life to those in Edward's was bordering on the farcical, but there was some kind of empathy being formed there now where before I had only felt a mixture of wonder, confusion, and pity. It was a strange yet pleasing change, and I was still musing over it, tuning out Alice and Sue's continued chatter, when the guys returned.

All three of them trooped into the living room, soaking wet from their walk over. Jazz and Jake were comfortably swaddled in their jackets, Jazz shaking out droplets of water from his hair the way a dog might. Edward's thermal was soaked through and clinging to his chest and abs like wet newspaper. I may have gawked. Okay, there was definitely gawking. But only until I realized he was shivering and pangs of guilt and concern shot through me. Not only that, but was it my imagination or had Edward lost weight since the last time I'd seen him shirtless? His eyes shifted uncomfortably back and forth between Sue and me, and I wanted to know what was bothering him.

"The rain's only going to get worse," Jazz said, sucking on the corner of his cheek in a display of his thoughtfulness. "I think we should probably cut out soon, yeah?"

"Jake, do you have a dry shirt Edward could borrow?" Sue asked. She then turned her head to Edward and added, "Poor thing, you look like a drowned rat." My guilt mounted.

Without answering, Jake lumbered upstairs. At the top he had to duck in order to avoid the slope in the ceiling. Jeez, when had he gotten so big? He'd really grown a lot in the past few years, and without my noticing. Had Jake and I really become such strangers? I resolved then and there to come back to La Push more often; to be a better friend.

"I'm fine," Edward protested.

Unfortunately for him, no one turned down Sue Clearwater's hospitality even when it was by proxy. Jake came back bearing both a t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt, looking smug about the latter garment. Edward accepted them gracelessly but with a mumbled thanks. Jake kicked his toe against the carpet and shrugged. Well, I'd be darned.

Everyone agreed with Jazz's assessment that it was time to head home. The only problem was, when we got to Alice's car, we found it firmly lodged in the mud that had formed around it during our stay. Alice put it in neutral so the guys could try to push it loose, but it was no use. In frustration Alice slammed on the gas pedal, sending mud spraying everywhere but not moving the car an inch.

We stood around the vehicle, wondering just what the hell we were supposed to do, when Edward slapped the top of the car loudly. He bent down and stared at the wheels for a moment before straightening up and turning to face Jake, who had come out to help with the pushing.

"You got any wooden boards?"

In fact, Jake did. And after lodging two-by-sixes under both of the front tires, Edward was able to slowly drive the car up onto them and out of the small ditch we'd managed to create with our efforts. They pushed the car the rest of the way back onto the road and we were just getting ready to climb in when Sue came rushing out of the Black house toward us.

"Hang on!" she called, breathless. "They've just said on the radio. The highway is completely flooded at Lake Crescent and at Beaver Lake on the one-thirteen. You're not going to be able to get back to Port Angeles today."

There were precisely two routes between where we now stood and Port Angeles. The faster route, the one we'd taken here, was the Olympic Highway. That was also where Jazz's house sat in the woods, a few miles on the other side of Lake Crescent. The other way would have been to take the one-thirteen to the one-twelve along the bay, which was a crappy drive anyway. It didn't matter now, though, since that wasn't a possibility either. With a proverbial collective groan, the mild elation created by our victory in freeing the car quickly deflated.

"What're we s'posed to do?" Jazz wondered aloud. "Chill here?"

What started out as a very promising day had now totally devolved and crumbled. I closed my eyes briefly, mentally kissing good bye the idea of what would have been my first real, official date with Edward.

"No," I said slowly, redirecting everyone's attention toward me. "We can stay at my place."

Edward and Jazz frowned, while Alice and Jake both gave me wide eyes. Still thinking about what Sue had said early about change and order, I gave them all a carefully affected shrug. For the first time since my mother had left after the funeral and I'd moved to Port Angeles, I would be going home.


End file.
